Moulin Rouge
by Belle A Lestrange
Summary: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. In the inner circle he must battle the advances of Ginvera, as well as the arrival of the dukes son, Draco. Summary Inside.
1. There was a Boy

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the oppurutnity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesean and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influental heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE:To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognisable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge  
**

**There Was a Boy  
**

**_Paris 1899_  
**

_There was a boy ... A very strange -enchanted boy ... they say he wondered very far ... very far ... Over land and sea ... A little shy ... And sad of eye ... But very wise -was he ... And then one day -a magic day he passed my way ... And while he spoke of many things -fools and kings ... this he said to me ...  
_

The night was black and cool against his skin. The stale scent of sweat and grime and alcohol hung low and heavy in the evening air. The whispering of the cool breeze fluttered the net curtains that hung like filthy cobwebs over the gaping holes that were the windows of his humble little flat. The floorboards felt harsh and brutally rough on the soles of his feet as he shifted them underneath him. He probably had a few splinters already. He could not bring himself to care. A pigeon fluttered onto the windowsill and cooed as it's head bobbed from side-to-side. There was a chill running over the fine hairs on his arms but he didn't want to move to wrap the sheets around him. He couldn't bring himself to move over to the bed.

The bed -where they had slept together -made love to one another -where he had recited plays, songs and poetry to the one he loved. Tears once again began to cloud his eyes, hot and heavy and raw with emotion as they etched wet trails down his face. The fluttering of wings drew his attention up to the window. The moon shone brightly and hung low in the sky behind the Eiffle Tower. The stars twinkled, one bright than all the rest. Beneath the window sill lay his beloved type-writer -but it was so much more than any mere object. It had once gleamed so beautifully, brand new with bright brass keys.

He tilted his head back and swallowed past the heavy lump that was nestled at the back of his throat. He sniffed as another tear fell through his black lashes. It ran down his neck, where before hot lips had been devastatingly familiar, and now -it was cold.

He stood stiffly from the floor, his muscles heavy and numb from his foetal position. His tailbone ached from where he had been sitting for a long period of time on roughened wooden floorboards. He was a danger to himself at this point, and he was fully aware of that fact. He felt empty, nothing was willing him to live any longer. His life was desolate. He stretch out his arms, his legs, his back, and ran both of his hands through his ruffled hair that hung thickly with grease against his forehead. His skin felt as though it had layers of dirt upon it. It was disgusting but he could not even think about considering a bath -for reasons alone he could not fathom.

The type writer gleamed in the moonlight -beckoning him.

A wary sigh hissed through his lips. He was really thirsty, but as he looked at all the empty absinthe bottles lying around he knew that there wasn't not a drop to drink in his home-like prison. He fixed his gaze upon the gleaming body of the typewriter -still shiny underneath a layer or two of dust -and ran his finger along one side. Still shiny black underneath. Any other day -month -year -time even, he would have smiled at the gleam of polished black. But today -he couldn't.

It was almost as though he had forgotten how to smile, and how to laugh. He hadn't forgotten how to cry. Oh, the bitter sweetness of it all. He hung his head, the burning familiarity of loneliness and tragedy welling up within his derailed mind. He turned gleaming, accusing eyes on the type-writer -the only thing that remained of a broken promise. He was a broken man with a hundred broken promises. Where was his redemption? Where was his salvation?

He felt to lost.

He sat himself down before the type-writer, the seat creaked underneath his light weight and he smoothed his fingertips lightly over the worn brass keys. _Hello old friend,_ were the first words that popped into his head as his lip twitched. He didn't smile, though. He had forgotten how to smile. His fingertips trembled as he touched the keys -it had been so long since he had written anything. All of a sudden a familiar sensation ignited within his hands -the itch to write, to type, to allow his fingers to create a world he had lost in his dreams. And so he typed.

_THE GREATEST THING YOU'LL EVER LEARN_  
_IS JUST TO LOVE AND BE LOVED IN RETURN_

As soon as that quote -the quote that had intoxciated thousands and ended quite a few lives -was written, his fingers continued on their morbid journey, dropping the first few bread-crumbs of a long and twisted tale.

_The Moulin Rouge. A nightclub. A dance hall and a bordello ruled over by Arthur Weasley. A kingdom of night-time pleasures, where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beautiful of all these creatures ... was the woman I was meant to have loved. Ginvera. A courtesan, she sold her love to men. They called her '**the sparkling diamond**', and she was the star -the of the Moulin Rouge._

He pressed his left hand roughly against his forehead in a frustrated bid to relive the memories that were bubbling up to the surface of his head. The emotion was welling up in his throat and he knew he would be unable to stop the sounds from escaping. And so one by one quiet, strangled sobs began to rip themselves from his throat and puncture through the silent gloom. He voice, though he was crying, sounded discintly foreign to his own ears. He hadn't spoken for a long time. He returned his gaze to the barely written on page and sighed. Time was escaping him yet again. He ran a grimy hand down his face, inhaled the musty scent, and flexed his fingers over the keys once again -preparing to type.

_The man I loved ... is ..._

He diverts his gaze, unable to watch the word be printed out into black-and-white. For as soon as it was printed, it would be true. And he could not face that reality. Not yet. Could he? He cracked his watery eyes open and peered outt rhough the window, his fingers hovering over the terminak brass keys. The broken moulin rouge stared back at him, a ghostly shadow before the alluring white moon.

And so he typed.

_... dead._

He turned his unwilluing gaze back to the typewriter, staring at the one word that was the cause of everything, including his broken promise. He felt his body begin to tremble, already he could feel himself succumbing to his emotions. His head was beginning to feel dizzy with the heat of his turmoil and the aggression with which he tried to fence the bursts of emotion off. He knew it was hopeless. He had isolated himself from everyone that he loved and who had helped him progress into the stage of grief he was in now. They had helped him -and he had refused them entrance into his life.

That was about to change. Inhaling deeply, he began trying to soothe his emotions. He resumed typing.

_I first came to Paris.. one year ago. It was 1898, the summer of love. I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Arthur Weasley, or Ginerva. The world had been swept up in bohemian revolution, and I had traveled from London to be a part of it. On the hill near Paris was the village of Montmartre._

He could still see himself now, as he typed the words. He had stepped off of the London train in the heart of Paris and had been enthralled by the occupants of the city; the smell of baked baguettes, and fresh meats and cheeses as he strolled through the Bohemian paradise. It was what he had dreamt of what he had craved. Everything was exactly what he had needed, freedom, solitude, a passion for writing and the will to write it all down. His head and been full of fantasy and he had been plagued by his militant father's stern attitude towards Paris, and writing poetry and stories filled with love. He had sneered when down at him when he'd announced he was to depart to France for an adventure into the romantic era of his life. His father had merely sneered at him and proclaimed that Paris was, "_A village of sin_!"

He hadn't cared. He turned his back on his father, finally taking the journey he had dreamt his whole life of taking. He had ventured to Paris and built his nest in the center of the bohemian world. Musicians, painters, writers.. They were known as '_the children of the revolution_'. Yes, he had come to live a penniless existence. He had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom and that which he believed in above all things- love.

_'Always this ridiculous obsession with love!'_ He froze, hands poised over the keys, a cold droplet of sweat ran an icy trail down the side of his hot face. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. That gruff voice of his father was enough to make him realise that he had been a fool to chase of after -especially when he had been a virgin in the matter. No prior experiance had tainted him when he had first arrived in Paris.

He shifted in the stiff-backed chair, the old wood creaking as he did so. He slid the sheet of paper out of his type writer and steadily, with experiance fingers, inserted another sheet in it's place. Upon the blank canvas the words came easily to his talented hands, spinning the first threads of the web he was creating.

_There was only one problem- I'd never been in love! Luckily, right at that moment, an unconscious Italian fell through my roof._

He snorted, practically visualising how his roof had caved in. He glanced up at where the hole still remained in his cieling, light music twinkling down as they all drunk themselves silly upstairs. They hadn't invited him. He would not have joined them even if they had. He twisted his lip bitterly. He did miss them, deep down underneath the brutally emotionless shell he had created for himself. But he wasn't ready. He could not face it all. Not yet. A trilling laugh resounded from the room above his and he felt the corner of his mouth twicth a fraction. He would never forget that laugh -the laugh of Colin Creevey an incredibly small man forever armed with a camera. He felt his head grow light as he recalled the first time he had met Colin. It was right after the unconscious Italian, who was a dark-skinned boy by the name of Blaise Zabini, had fallen through his cieling and was hanging my a rope of tangled bedclothes. He hastened to type the most bizarre sentence of his life.

_He was quickly joined by dwarf dressed as a nun._

He flinched as he remember Colin slamming his apartment door open and snapping a photo of him at his type writer, much like he was now, and then a few picture's of the Unconscious Italian. He smiled as he relieved the memory ...

_Colin placed the camera back down to rest on his small belly and grinned cheesily up at him, extending a hand and twirling a worn cane in his free hand, "how do you do good sir, my name is Colin Marie Raymond Creevey-Lautrec Monfa"_

_Harry, still stunned beyond himself to fully comphrehend what the small man was saying, opened his locked jaw in bewilderment, "w-what?"  
_

_Colin waved his question away with a flick of his cane and walked over to the unconscious man hanging from the cieling by his foot. He checked his pulse, and held a small pocket-mirror over his mouth and nose to check as to whether he was still breathing normally. He was still alive, clearly, as Colin continued to prattle on, "I'm so terribly sorry about all of this. We were just upstairs rehearsing a play!"  
_

_He was too dumfounded at that moment in his short five-minute stay in his apartment that all he could do was repeat his previous, "what?"  
_

'_A play_' he typed with vigour, trying to recapture his previous admiration for such an enthusiastic and strange occurance in the day, '_something very modern called **Spectacular, Spectacular**_' According to Colin, the play was supposed to be set in Switzerland and the Unconscious Italian was supposed to have the lead role, however, he apparently suffered from a strange sickness called narcolepsy.

'_Perfectly fine one moment and then suddenly *snore* Unconscious the next_' was the way that Colin had phrased it in his hyperactive voice. Perhaps he was always hyper, or on some form of medication that was keeping him wired enough to talk at rabbit-hopping speed. He could feel himself loosing grip on his mind whilst he wrote, reliving the moments as he wrote them down ...

_A voice from above drew Harry and Colin's attention to a group of faces peering down through the hole in the cieling, a bald man with a head that looked like a polished egg, an elderly man with a long whispy white beard, and a man? ... woman? ... person, with ludicrous make-up upon their face and a strange outfit on. It was this ... person ... who had spoken. "How is he?" one glance towards the still unconscious man swinging from nothing but thin bedsheets caused an exasperated sigh from the person's mouth. "Wonderful. JUST wonderful! Now that the narcoleptic Argentinean is now unconscious. Therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financier tomorrow" the person's voice was a dramatic, high-pitched drawl that sounded too strange to his ears._

_The bald man nodded vigorously, allowing his perfectly circular rose-tinted glasses to bounce upon his nose, "he's right, Colin, I still have to finish the music"_

_All Colin did was grin wildly, clearly a plan had formed within his warped little mind as he annouced to the crew, "find someone to read the part!"_

_The man-woman-person who he later found out was named 'Audrey' for whatever reason, folded their arms across their chest and snorted sarcastically, "where in heavens name are we going to find someone to read the part of a young, sensitive Swiss poet-goatherder?"_

He snorted as he recalled how wide Colin's grin had become when he had looked up at him that day. '_Before I knew it, I was upstairs, standing in for the unconscious Italian_'

_There was only one word that Harry could describe Colin's singing. Mind-numbing. It was technically one word as it was hyphenated. He had checked. He could not help but cringe as the theremin trilled a strange mystical tune out, along to the clinking of glasses. All of this accompanied by Colin's singing, made his head scream in agony. Audrey had been thinking along the same lines in regards to the instrumental droning that was taken place, and was quick to hush the crest-fallen musician. "Oh, stop stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop! Stop that insufferable droning. It's drowning out my words. Can't we just stick to a little decorative piano?"_

There had been a chasm of artistic differences over Audrey's lyrics and the musicians, Flitwick's songs. They intelligent minds had collided haphazardly as they tried to sort out the mess. The fight had amused him at the time, and would so now, if he could even remember how to smile let alone laugh and feel amused.

_The doctor, who was also known as Dumbledore, or Albus to those who had known him longer, was vague and rather quite mad. He had stroked his beard whilst mumbling in his aged voice, "I don't think a nun would say that about a hill"_

_Flitwick, too, was frowning in thought. "What if he sings, 'The hills are vital, intoning the descant'?"_

_Colin snorted at this and then flapped his hands around, "no, no. The hills quake and shake-"_

_Dumbledore trembled as he spoke, "No, no, no, no. The hills-"_

_A person bolted upright in the bed and growled in a sensualy raspy voice, "the hills are incarnate with symphonic melodies!" as soon as he had woken up, Blaise the Italian and fallen unconscious once again onto the tangled mass of sheets upon the bed. A bickering war ensues, each debating on ideas for what the poetic-goatherd would say if he were perched atop a hill. None of the ideas were fitting. Harry, now strapped in the attire of what everyone assumed a poet-goatherder would wear, was atop a ladder as he tried to project his idea to the group. They had all bowed their heads into a circle and could not even see him when he raised his voice and wove his arms over his head.  
_

_Sighing he did the only thing that he could think of to gain their attention. He drew in a deep breath and projected his voice, trained and engineered by the finest choir in all of England, "the hills are alive with the sound of mu-u-u-sic!"  
_

_The room had gone deadly quiet. You could hear a pin drop to the garrett below. And that is when Blaise decided to once again revive himself. He leapt forth from the bed, and focused his smouldering dark gaze on Harry and advanced further into the room, "the hills are alive with the sound of music! I love it!" he exclaimed in a rough italian accent, his speech slurred vaguely from sleep._

The arguments had stopped and for once he had felt as though he belong. He had found people who would stop and listen to the things he had to say. Even as he continued to sing what next popped into his head, 'with songs they had sung for a thousand years', he had not expected what dramatic consequences his actions would cost him. He snorted gravely to himself, savouring the taste of the bitter irony of it all. He had not expected Colin to suggest that Audrey and he should write the play together, and it was clear that Audrey had been indefinately offended by the proposal.

_"Goodbye!" Audrey had announced as he? ... she? ... THEY stormed from the apartment, never to be heard from by any of them again._

Colin had been quick to salute him at the time, all of them were blissfully unaware of what would befall them as they decided to take on this amazing opportunity. However, Flitwick was had still been rather skeptical about his writing abilities.

_"Colin, Weasley will never agree. No offense" Flitwick said and then became flabbergasted as he realized that Harry could easily hear him. "Oh I mean ... have you ever had any experience in doing this sort of thing before?"_

_Harry had merely grinned, and shrugged. At least they thought he had talent. "Nope, this is my first" sadly, his words didn't have the amazed reaction he was hoping for. If anything Flitwicks face had dropped even more into a panicked frown._

_Blaise who was now awake, let out a joyous cry, "Ahh! The boy has talent!" the Italian went to place a comforting hand upon Harry, however as he was on a ladder, the rash action landed with Blaise's hand smothering Harry's crotch. Upon seeing this, Blaise whipped his hand away and chuckled awkwardly, "I like him! Oh ... er ... nothing funny. I just like talent."_

_Colin began gushing at the raw talent that Harry seemed to possess, specially when it came down to improvisation, whereas Flitwick was still fretting about convincing the owner of the Moulin rouge. "How will we convince Weasley?"_

But Colin had had an ingenious plan -well they had all seen it as ingenious at the time. The plan was simple -Ginvera. They had dressed him in the Italian's best-cut suit and had managed to pass him off as a famous English writer. And once Ginerva heard his take on modern poetry, she would be astounded and insist to Arthur Weasley that he should write '**_Spectacular, Spectacular_**.' The only problem was he had kept hearing his father's voice in his head, ranting and raving about how he would '_end up wasting your time at the Moulin Rouge with a cancan dancer_!' He still thought that Colin was made, even to this very day one year later. But it didn't matter now. What was done was done, and there was nothing he could do about it.

_Harry panicked as the voices swirled around, mingling with one another and confusing him. He began to hyperventilate, not knowing what to do. Everything seemed back-to-front; up was down, left was backwards, North was Africa, and he suspected that there may have been a Lion a witch and a wardrobe hiding in the old battered alcove just out of sight. "No, I can't write the show for the Moulin Rouge!" he objected, breaking free from the circle of people that were closing in on him, preventing his mind from thinking clearly. He bolted for the hole in the floor where the Italian had fallen through where now a ldder stood, propped in between the two floors._

_Colin was not having any of it. As Harry began to descend out of sight, he peered over the hole and demanded, "Why not?"_

_Harry panicked and felt his tongue rolling freely within his mouth, words tumbling out in a gushing breath, "I don't even know if I am a true bohemian revolutionary"_

_Colin looked horrified, his hand flying to his mouth as he stumbled over his words. "Do you believe in beauty?"_

_Harry swallowed cautiosuly. "Yes"_

_Blaise peered over with smouldering eyes, "Freedom?"_

_"Yes, absolutely"_

_Flitwick chimed up, "Truth?"_

_"Positive."_

_Dumbledore bent over, his long beard tickling at Harry's nose. He suppressed a sneeze as the raspy voice grated in his ears, "Love, my boy? Do you believe in love?"_

_"Love?" Harry asked, not sure that he had heard right. "Love. Above all things, I believe in love. Love is like oxygen, love is a many-splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!" he was grinning now and he didn't care. There were many forms of love and they were all true and powerful._

_Colin was laughing manically by this point, like a giddy little imp, "See, you can't fool us. You're the voice of the children of the revolution!" he grabbed a green bottle that practically glowed in the dying light, "Lets drink to the new writer of the world's first bohemian revolutionary show!"_

They had all assumed that it was the perfect plan. He was to audition his poetry for Ginerva and he would also taste my first glass of.. absinthe. It was a strong drink, with a vile backlash at the back of his throat. He had spluttered through his first glass but the Bohemians were adamant that he drink more. He had tried to refuse but they hadn't wanted to accept 'no' for an answer. He still remembered how the little green fairy on the bottle had winked at them all as they threw on their best clothes, and marched along the rooftop, singing at the tops of their lungs. He felt his chest constrict, still sure that he could hear them all singing out, '_YEAH FREEDOM, BEAUTY, TRUTH, AND LOVE!_'

They were the children of the revolution. The true Bohemians. The men who would conquer the modern world with songs and plays and stories of beauty, freedom, truth and above all things ... Love. People would come from the next country over just to hear what he had had to write.

And then, in the blink of an eye, or perhaps it had been a side-effect of the absinthe, he would never know, they were off to the Moulin Rouge, and he was to perform his poetry ... for Ginerva.

* * *

**A/N: Well there was the first chapter, I hope you like it and I hope it was not too confusing for you.**


	2. The Sparkling Diamond

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the oppurutnity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesean and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influental heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE:To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognisable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge  
**

**The Sparkling Diamond**

**1888**

_VOULEZ-VOUS COUCHER AVEC MOI CE SOIR_  
_HEY SISTA, GO SISTA, SOUL SISTA, FLOW SISTA_

As Harry and his new gang of Bohemian Revolutionaries crossed the black pavement to the threshold of the red glowing Windmill and in through the first set of doors to the large polished oak dance hall, amongst a sea of tuxedo's and wealth that dribbled money from their mouths, a boisterous yell rivetted throughout the air over their heads. "THE MOULIN ROUGE!" was punctuated over the gabbling of the rich, and in Harry's case the poor, as a medium height red-haired man with a thin curled moustache and costume make-up upon his features strutted out of the large doubledoors of the dance hall. As music vibrated through his veins, Harry watched with awe as Arthur Weasley strutted out in a horrible outfit consisting of tight white trousers and a red jacket emblazzened with buttons and a top-hat. As the doors opened on either side of him, skirts of a thousand different colours and patterns swirled and ruffled and fanned about as the girls attached to them seeped through the cracks, like termites from an infested log.

**_Arthur Weasley and his infamous girls. They called them his 'Diamond Dogs'._**

Harry was mesmorised as he caught his first glimpse of the underworld, the seedy side of Paris, the made-up faces, the revealing outfits, the jeweelery glittering as it's passed from girl-to-girl. They were all screaming enthusiastically as the men leered at them and stuffed money down their long ruffled skirts, or the low-cut blouses. Harry felt himself cringe. He had heard tales when he had been in England, that the majority of the larger cities had small establishments like these, with vulgar women flashing far too much skin, their legs flying high overhead into the air.

He wasn't used to it and he was grateful when Colin grabbed his wrist and guided him to a raised booth with the rest of their gang. Drinks had been ordered by Blaise as Harry settled himself down in a seat, the air suddenly thick and hot and sticky in his lungs. Maybe this had been a bad idea on his part. He swallowed thickly and tried to get into the swing of his new surroundings as the men pooled into the dancing hall, intergrating with the dancers and pairing off. The singing had heightened and has the tempo of the music and Harry could feel his heart thumping in time to it all. It make him feel queasy.

_HERE WE ARE NOW! ENTERTAIN US! WE FEEL STUPID! AND CONTAGIOUS!_

Harry looked at the men flashing their money and sliding their hands under layers and layers of multi-coloured ruffles, and felt his stomach knot. They really were stupid in his eyes. How could they make a mockery of themselves? They were supposed to uphold the country, not violate the young, the restless and lonely.

Arthus Weasley was strutting around, whipping various girls with his riding crop and swatting their backsides with his white-gloved hands. Squeals erupted from the girls, and yet, they danced on. He shuddered as some older men stroked down the thighs of an energetic young girl, flashing her frilly lace knickers in his face.

_GOT SOME DARK DESIRE! LOVE TO PLAY WITH FIRE! WHY NOT LET IT RIP! LIVE A LITTLE BIT!_

Cigarette smoke from other booths drifted up into the musty air, the stale scent of sweat and money mingled heavily under his nsoe as he downed a shot-glass of whatever Blaise had decided to order. He knew not what it was, only that it was very bitter and fiery. Harry choked slightly and was thankful when Blaise, as rough and vigorous as he seemed on the outside, placed a soft hand on Harry's back and pressed at a pressure point, easing the coughing fit almost instantly. Harry would have said thank you but the music and squeals were too loud. Blaise merely smiled with his dark smouldering eyes, as he returned his gaze to the dancers.

Harry was grateful at how safe he felt with the Bohemians. He was glad Blaise had fallen through his roof earlier that day. Otherwise he would have been stuck in his little flat, glaring at the typewriter as no words ventured forth onto the page. Instead, he was here at the Moulin Rouge, drinking and watching as dancers paraded themselves with little dignity.

_HERE WE ARE NOW! ENTERTAIN US! WE FEEL STUPID! AND CONTAGIOUS!_

The music suddenly stopped. All eyes bolted to the stage where the musicians were seats, their instruments still as Arthus Weasley looked down at them all with wide eyes before stage-whispering, "The cancan" He bends down and flipped the sign indicating which dance is going playing. It read in curled black lettering 'The Cancan'. The girls begin to ruffle around like chickens into a variation of new dancing positions, in the blink of an eye.

"BECAUSE WE CAN CANCAN!" sang out the boisterous roar of Weasley as the music belted out into the air once again. "BECAUSE WE CAN CANCAN!  
YES WE CAN CANCAN!"

Harry gave a sheepish smile as the drink infect the safety net around him; Dumbledore, Colin, Flitwick and Blaise were all singing along to Weasley's song, sloshing their drinks this way and that. Suddenly two arms roped Harry along with them as they stepped down from their booth ansd onto the dancefloor, all the while singing at the top of their lungs, "YES WE CAN!" Even Harry joined in, finally allowing the small amount of alcohol he had ingested to sink into his bloodstream.

"CAUSE IT'S GOOD FOR YOUR MIND!" accompanied by a scream of excitement, Harry had no idea the words had come from his mouth until he was appraised for joining in. The music rippled through his body. The singing of the men surrounding him was intoxicating. He could feel it throbbing through his heart, like he was about to suffer from cardiac arrest. One-by-one his new friends were whiskered away by can-can dancers.

Harry was so intoxicated by the atmosphere that he jumped about a foot in the air when he heard Colin shout his name out, "HARRY!" Harry raised a hand at the two blurry visions of Colin as he made his way over to the table on unsteady feet.

_VOULEZ-VOUS COUCHER AVEC MOI_

Over the blaring music Colin cupped his hand over his mouth and leaned close to Harry over the table, "Psst! Psst! Mission accomplished. We successfully evaded Weasley!" he gushed out in a semi-shout as he practically bounced up and down in his seat with sheer excitement. Harry felt excitement knot within his stomach. It had all happened so quickly; he had only just been appointed their new screen-writer that afternoon.

The lights blew out. A hush descended over the crowd. Harry frowned as the rest of the Bohemians and other men in the crowd cast their eyes skyward. He, too, looked up at the ceiling. He felt his mouth drop open as a ice blue spotlight shot across the darkness and land on a figure gradually descending from a trapeze. From his position in the raised booth, Harry could see the creamy smoothness of woman's back, fiery orange sleek curls hung loose from underneath a top hat down her back. Her skin was tinted blue as the trapeze gradually rotated, the diamonds on her leotard glittering obscenely through the spotlight. Black satin gloves made the bottom half of her arms look as though they disappeared into the surrounding darkness.

Colin's moist breath was sticky and slurred in Harry's ear as he breathed, "it;s her! The sparkling diamond!"

Harry felt his chest constrict. He was meant to woo this woman? A woman who had a silent black sea of men beneath her offering up hands of money and diamond studded jewellery? He stood no chance, he could tell. He felt his shoulders sag and his earlier buzz to vanish from the back of his brain. He watched, memorized by two full red lips parting and a honey-sweet voice rippling the waves of the still black pool of men.

_THE FRENCH ARE GLAD TO DIE FOR LOVE_  
_THEY DELIGHT IN FIGHTING DUELS_

Harry felt a shiver run down the back of his spine as he watched the woman he was to woo, rotate so elegantly and precious like a dainty sleek white rose encased in droplets.

**_But someone else was to meet Ginerva that night._**

In the booth directly next to Harry, clustered around one of the small round tables, sat two aristocratic blond men accompanied by Arthur Weasley himself, smoke drifting overhead and the stench of perfume hanging low from all the scantly dressed women. The eldest of the two blond men was one of Weasley's many investors, though they had not done business with one another for a good few years. He was a pure-blooded royal and had decided that this year he would see what Weasley had to offer, having received several letters from the man in question about the young woman now dangling herself like a piece of virgin flesh for all the hungry men beneath her. She was fresh meat to a pack of wolves.

The other reason he had decided to journey to Paris was because he thought that it was high-time that his young son was to learn what sort of power they held over men like Weasley, and what it was like to see a business deal come through on the other end, a success. The younger blond beside him was said son, his one and only heir, young Draco Malfoy.

It was Draco's first time in Paris, though he had traveled all over the rest of Europe, his father had kept Paris until last, despite it was the closest to where they lived, in Britain. Whilst his father and Weasley worked out the arrangements of a business deal, Draco's eyes were drawn up to the redhead circulating in the air, two plump red lips begging to be kissed and to sin on every man below her.

_BUT I PREFER A MAN WHO LIVES  
__AND GIVES EXPENSIVE ... JEWELS_

Flinging herself from the swing, hanging on with one hand as the spotlight highlighted her round breasts, Ginerva blew a kiss to the horny men beneath, flashing their handfuls of money as the swing spun in wider circles, growing lower and lower into the roughened hands of the rich.

_**The Duke.**_

The salivating men cheered and leered at the hope of getting anywhere near The Star of the show. As Draco watched the men reaching up to run their hands along the seams of the young woman's tights, he is suddenly more in tune to what his father is negotiating.

"So when am we going to meet the girl, Weasley?" Lucius sneered in his cold drawling voice, his white-gloved hand grasping the top of his sleek black cane.

Weasley leaned further over the table, making Draco stifle a choke on the hideous stench of the ginger man, "after her number, I've arranged a special meeting. Just you and Mademoiselle Ginerva. Totally alone"

On the other side of the thick oak slide that separated both booths, Colin is gushing at his ingenious plan, to Harry. "After her number, I've arranged a private meeting. Just you and Mademoiselle Ginerva. Totally alone!"

Harry swallowed the nervous bile that swarmed into his throat, "alone?" he choked out, suddenly feeling very hot. This was not good. He was in way over his head and he knew it. He desperately wanted to go home.

"Yes," Weasley and Colin breathed out across their separate tables, "totally alone"

Draco frowned at his father. There was something sinister in the lustful gleam in his dark grey eyes, the pupils wide and maddening in the darkness. Over his father's shoulder, Draco can see Ginerva pushing a man down onto the floor, her sleek ginger curls sliding down over her shoulders, tickling the mans nose. A tent is visible between Ginerva's legs, where the man had already begun to lose himself.

_CAUSE WE ARE LIVING IN A MATERIAL WORLD ... AND I'M A MATERIAL GIRL_

Blowing a kiss to the poor lovelorn boy on the floor, Ginerva stands up and struts to the men grovelling around her, their hot, heavy hands pawing at her cool, white skin. The heat was starting to make her a little light-headed but she loved the attention. A hand ran up her leg and cupped the curve of her buttocks. She swung around in one fluid motion and can-can kicked the man in the skin with a bright smile. No one really noticed as more men climbed over the single injured person, all with their wives old jewellery and money grasped in their hands. "Come get me boys" she purred with a sultry wink.

Weasley smiled as the exhibition of his Star, and looks apologetically at the Duke and his Heir, "Excuse me"

"BLACK STAR, ROSCOR, TALK TO ME WEASLEY, TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT!" Ginerva crowd-surfed to the center stage where Weasley leaped forth from the crowd. As the song continued, Weasley mimed groping Ginerva's backside, which, although rehearsed as everything else that night, made Harry feel violently sick. He was so unused to seeing such things that it irked him.

He stood upright fro the table and was stopped instantly by Colin's small hand on his forearm. "Don't worry, don't worry. I'll sally forth and tee things up!" he gushed as he slid out from the table. Harry frowned after his small friend. He had only wanted to step outside for a moment or two for fresh air, for some quiet to collect his bearings and cool himself off. Now, Colin was going to talk to Weasley, and Harry felt the urge to be sick once again.

On his way to the dance floor and the center stage where Ginerva and Arthur Weasley were creating obscene poses whilst singing. He yelped as he accidentally collided into a waiter, causing a tray of tea to fall on the Duke, who leaped from his seat with a cry of outrage. Draco, too, was on his feet however all he could do was look on his shock as his father's expensive trousers were stained with the sickly green of absinthe.

Colin's hands flew to his mouth in sheer terror, "Oh my goodness I am so sorry!"

Lucius sneered down at the terrified little man as his shoulder-length blonde hair fell over into his eyes from where it had previously been smoothed into place.

As the music blared around them Ginerva leaned in and whispered into Arthur's ear, "is the Duke here, Arthur?"

Arthur looked mock-affronted and then beamed "would Daddy let you down, sweetness?"

He peered behind Ginerva's head and felt his jaw drop at the sight of the Duke standing up, his arms outstretched in surprise and rage, his face glaring down at the small sandy-haired man Arthur recognised as Colin, trying to help the Duke get the spilt tea off of his starched trousers. He couldpractically hear Colin's whimperings of, "Terribly sorry!" over the din of the music. He growled low in his throat as Colin's hankerchief got soaked with the spilt tea and absinthe.

"Where is he?" Ginerva's anxious voice hissed in his ear, as they rotated on the stage to the music.

Arthur turned back to see that, once again, Colin was attempting to mop up the Duke's once pristine trousers to no avail. From his place on the stage, Arthur could see how soaked through Colin's handkerchief was already. "He's the one Colin is shaking a hanky at"

Colin looked down at the sodden rag in his hand and felt his shoulders slump. There was no way that handkerchief would soak up any more absinthe. He frowned in thought, wondering what he could do now. Then a little light bulb flickered on inside his head. Harry! He whirled around the oak paneled wall and grinned up at Harry. "Excuse me Harry, may I borrow one?" without waiting for an answer, Colin's hand dove into Harry's pocket and withdrew the starched handkerchief. Colin frowned; there was no way that handkerchief would do anything for the Duke, but it was worth a try. He shook it out, hitting Harry in the face, in a vain attempt of unfolding the fabric.

Meanwhile, back on the stage Ginerva finally spotted Colin's small sandy-blond form shifting back and forth. She squinted through the spotlight and saw the small man that Colin was shaking the handkerchief at. He was extremely young, for a Duke, and his hair was thick, rich and black as the night outside, his eyes a deep, velvety green and a vulnerable expression that made his easy prey. "Are you sure?" she purred to Arthur, outfits already mapping out in her head to seduce the young investor.

"Let me peek" Arthur offered as Ginerva bent over and shook her backside at the crowd of drooling on-lookers. Arthur bent around Ginerva just in time to see Colin fretting over the furious Duke once again. "That's the one, chickpea. I hope that demonic little loon doesn't frighten him off" he added darkly as he dangled a tantalizing diamante heart in front of the redheaded girl.

Colin was, by this point, frustrated with the slandering words being sent his way by the self-righteous Duke. He flung the wet rag into his pompous face and snorted like a pig, "clean yourself off you bourgeois pig!" Colin turned to return to his booth, hoping that Blaise had ordered another drink, when suddenly a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and whirled him around. He collided with the rounded belly of the Duke's bodyguard, Vincent Crabbe. The fat man pressed his pocket against Colin's side. The young man flinched and began to shake as he felt the cold muzzle of a gun press against his stomach. He flinched a stutter of '_Sorry, sorry_' before hurrying away to his own booth, thankful for an excuse to run and hide.

Several cancan dancers encircle the stage, painted smiles on their mouths as they turned to face the crowd and lifted up their skirts so that Ginerva and Arthur are hidden behind them so they can change into their next costume for the remaining dance numbers of the evening. "Will he invest?" Ginerva asked hastily as soon as the skirts were drawn around them, shielding them from view. She quickly unfastened her leotard and waiting for the jester boy to hand her the floating white, feathery ball gown she was to wear for the rest of the evening. "Oof! This is a little tight" she gasped as she was fastened into the dress.

"Well you have been eating a lot more" the jester boy stated quietly as he pinned some pearls into her red curls.

"What?" she hissed, turning blazing brown eyes onto him, making sure to take delight in him withering underneath her gaze.

"I ... the dress! Must have shrunken in the wash" he stated before crawling out from under the multi-coloured layers of fabric.

Ginerva turned her attention back to Arthur, "well? Will he?"

"Pigeon! After spending the night with you, how could he refuse?"

Ginerva struggled to breath at a steady rhythm. The dress really was tight. She readjusted the pearl tipped pins in her hair and blew the few stray ginger wisps out of her eyes. "What's his type? Wilting flower?" she fluttered her eyelids shut and whimpered slightly. Arthur pulled a face; he absolutely loathed the 'wilting flower' look. "Hmm, bright and bubbly?" She squealed and did the most childish and unattractive face Arthur had ever seen her pull as she gasped, "Aah!" He grimaced and shook his head. "Or Smoldering temptress?" She growled and did -what Arthur assumed she thought -was a seductive expression.

"I'd say smoldering temptress. We're all relying on you, gosling." Arthur stated, praying that the dense girl would be able to pull this stunt off. They needed the investments, they needed the money. The amount they made every other week was barely enough to cover all the new costumes, rehearsals and make-up they bought.

From beyond the skirts, they can hear that the crowd is growing restless, all of them panting for Ginerva to unveil herself to them once again. Arthur rolled his eyes, "remember, a real show, in a real theater, with a real audience, and you'll be-"

"A real actress." she sighed and then adopted a cute smile. They jumped to their feet, the skirts dropping around them, as they continued the end of the song.

_CAUSE THAT'S WHEN THOSE LOUSES_  
_GO BACK TO THEIR SPOUSES_

Colin is in the crowd by Ginerva's feet as she slides up onto the men's hands. Once again she was using crowd-surfing as her mode of transportation. It was easiest seeing as all the men wanted to slide their hands along her shapely legs and cup the curve of her buttocks through the thin, itching tights. "Bejeweled vision! Amazonian goddess!" he cried out, waving his arms overhead so that she could see where she was heading. Ginerva spotted him and, daintily crossing her legs at the ankles, directed her carries towards the upraised booths where Harry sat, looking on with widened eyes.

_DIAMONDS ARE A ..._

Colin is bouncing excitedly next to Harry, momentarily wondering where the Duke and his heir and bodyguard had disappeared to. Most likely to the mens room to soak his royal highness's precious trousers.

_... GIRL'S BEST ... FRIEND._

Ginerva stepped up from the suited men and onto the raised booth, her smile dazzling and painted bright red. It clashed horrifically with her hair but the taut costume she wore drew attention away from such a small detail. Harry looked up from his long-forgotten shot of absinthe and felt a tremble run through him. He swallowed thickly the fumes of perfume and cigarette smoke and liquor mingled under his nose and made him want to heave.

"I believe you are expecting me" Ginerva purred extending her hand towards him.

"Yes" Harry breathed, feeling his stomach lurch.

She bent down with a seductive smile on her wide mouth and breathed hotly onto the shell of his ear, "you can call my Ginny"

Harry nodded his head, his eyelids heavy from all the alcohol and his own uneasiness, "...yes"

* * *

**A/N: Well there's the second chapter I hope you like ^^**


	3. Absinthe

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the oppurutnity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesean and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influental heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE:To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognisable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge  
**

**Absinthe**

_She bent down with a seductive smile on her wide mouth and breathed hotly onto the shell of his ear, "you can call my Ginny"_

_Harry nodded his head, his eyelids heavy from all the alcohol and his own uneasiness, "...yes"_

With a satisfied smirk on her broad red lips, Ginny turned to the sea of men still drooling an ocean at her scantly clad figure as she bent down to give them all a view of her unsupported breasts. "I'm afraid it's lady's choice!" she called out with a wink.

The crowd cheers as Ginny points to Harry for her to take her hand and escort her out onto the dance-floor. Harry was too perplexed to move from his seat. He was far to dizzy and sickly to even consider moving an inch. Ginny's mouth opens in mock-hurt and then she pouts at the crowd with a whimpering sound that sounded like a kicked puppy. The crowd of men rumble with a forced, 'aww' as she pretends to look crestfallen at Harry's supposed 'rejection'. Harry began to feel a burning in his chest. He desperately needed some air. All he could see of Ginny was her tightly curled ginger hair, waxen face with a red smear of lipstick where her mouth was, and then at the feathery blurred plumes of her skirt.

He just wanted to go back to his tiny flat to sleep and not wake up until the sun was hanging low in the sky and a long drink of mulled wine would make him feel better again.

Ginny turns back to face Harry with a wicked grin on her red mouth. No one could resist her girlish antics. She grabbed a handful of plumes on either side of her legs and drew a leg out into the open, posing it for Harry to see all the way up to the leg-hole of leotard underneath the white costume. Harry swallowed thickly, but not for the reason Ginny was thinking. He really was going to be sick rather soon. He then watched with wavering vision as Ginny started flaring the feathers from side-to-side, her trilling echoing out over the crowd as she rolled her hips vigorously in his face, feathers getting caught in his mouth and in between his teeth.

He grimaced.

He was vaguely aware of the crowd chanting out her name over and over again. "GINERVA! GINERVA! GINERVA!"

Colin appeared from somewhere underneath the plumage, "I see you've already met my English friend!"

Ginny winks down at him, "I'll take care of it, Colin" she breathed before whirling around to grab a hold of Harry's hand, "Let's dance!"

"Hit her with your most modern poem!" Colin cried as Harry was forced out of his seat, the world spinning around him as he stumbled down from the raised booth to the overly-polished dance-floor. He felt really unsteady on his feet on the slippery floor.

In the middle of the dancefloor, Harry found that he was barely able to stand up straight let alone dance vicariously like the full-skirted forms twirling around him. His stomach was swirling and lurched everytime someone jostled him. Ginny's hands felt hot and awkward as she danced around him, trying to force him to move his feet. He groaned and batted her hands away lamely.

He really wanted to sleep.

Back at the upraised booth, the Bohemian gang could do nothing but stare on as Harry stands stiff with Ginny parading herself around him, rubbing up against him and filling his face with feathers. Flitwick shrugged lamely and in a strained voice murmured, "that seemed to go well all things considered"

Blaise looked over at the balding man as though he had lost his mind, "you mean other than the fact that Harry clearly had too much to drink and can barely funcation normally around that woman?"

Flitwick nodded softly, "yes -we should all take into account that he's a little bit of a light-weight"

Blaise snickered as he turned to look down at Harry. He had started to move more loosely and even had his hands placed firmly on Ginerva's swirling thighs, despite how squeamish he looked. He looked like he was going to be sick despite how he grabbed Ginny's hand and started to twirl her in circles and dip her to the rhymic music.

Dumbledore choked slightly as Harry looked whoozy but still managed to make Ginerva smile widely, "incredible"

Blaise snickered, "looks like our boy has a gift with the women"

"Jealous, Blaise?" Flitwick chuckled.

Colin clapped his hands excitedly, "I told you that he's a genius! We'll all be rich!"

Meanwhile, back on the dance-floor, over-come with giddiness at how Harry is suddenly dancing with her, she began to press her body up against his own, running her silk-gloved hands down his hot neck, down his torso and squeezing to close to his personal area for his liking. He jerked out of her reach with a surprised, "Woah! K-Keep your hands where I can see them" he managed to choke out.

Ginerva looked momentarily stunned, from her position on her knees in front of him. She noticed the intoxciated look in his swirling green eyes, and the hot flush on his cheeks and shrugged her bare white shoulders, before dragging her nails back up the lenght of his body, being sure to slide both her hands on either side of his crotch as she smirked up at him. "Gladly" she purred into his ear. Harry swallowed and continued to dance with the exotic woman before him.

From his position on behind the stage curtains where the costumes were kept, Arthur's mouth was hanging open slightly in awe, "that Duke certainly can dance" he breathed to himself, as the trumpets resumed their whining.

Harry was beginning to feel dizzy. Too many colours mixed together. Ginerva was prattling away in his ear, unlike the others girls who preferred to keep things strictly physical. Harry couldn't decide which one he would prefer at that moment. "So wonderful of you to take an interest in our little show" Ginerva was saying, unable to keep her burning silk-covered hands to herself.

Harry nodded, his eyelids suddenly feeling very heavy, "i-it sounds very exciting. I'd be delighted to be ... involved"

Ginerva was momentarily stunned. She has assumed it would take a lot more convincing to get the Duke to even consider looking into the Moulin Rouge as a suitable investment. She blinked her large brown eyes owlishly, "really?"

"Assuming you like what I do, of course" Harry gasped out as a hot flush crept up his cheek. It really was too hot to be thinking about which poem would woo Ginerva enough to persuade him to write the play. He just wanted some water.

Ginerva allowed her eyes to roam over Harry's body before a ginger eyebrow cocked itself on her pasty forehead, "I'm sure I will"

"Colin thought we might be able to, um, do it in private"

Ginerva grinned slyly, "Oh, did he now?"

Harry's voice trembled as he dipped the dancer, ginger curls flying everywhere. "Yes, you know, uh, a private ... p-poetry reading"

"Ohh!" Ginerva breathed, thrusting her hips against Harry's as he held her close to his body. Harry looked at the gleam in her eyes and suddenly adopted a wide-eyed frightened look. _SEX_? he mentaly screamed, _really? I've just met her!_ He then cast an eye at where he was, who he was with and felt his heart stop as Ginerva's words floated through his head, her hot hands groping him. "Mmm, a poetry reading. Oh I love a little poetry after supper"

_ENTERTAIN US! HERE WE ARE NOW! ENTERTAIN US! CAUSE WE'RE STUPID!_

"Hang on to your hat!"

Draco watched from his own raised booth, sipping white wine, as the redhead can-can dancer kicked her leg high in the air over her suitor. He then felt his stomach clench when the young, dark-haired boy -for he appearred to only be a young boy -collapse onto the hard, polished floor. He watched as the mop of dark hair collided rather hard with the floor. He watched his father sneer slightly. "Poor brat, had one too many drinks thrust down his throat"

Draco swallowed thickly as he watched the redhead get ushered away by some rather interestingly dressed men of all proportions, age and dress sense. He frowned as he watched a dark-skinned man in a dark suit with a blood red satin waistcoat grab one of the young boys arms and haul him to his feet, an arm around his shoulders.

The boys' head lulled to one side.

Hundred of eyes followed the procession out of the door.

"Don't know if that Duke's gonna get his money's worth tonight" commented a can-can dancer, Pansy, in a snide voice.

"Don't be unkind, Pansy" commented her friend, the plump Lavender who had her blodne curls piled high and tight on top of her head, as they were ushered back a few steps by Arthur.

"He fainted he just -fainted" Ginerva snapped as though she had no idea how that could have possibly happened.

Arthur made quick work of ushering dancers awake from Harry without looking down at the boy. He still thought it was the Duke. He merely glared down at Colin and whispered, "make sure he's safe, we need him" Colin could only nod as he trembled and scurried away to help get Harry home. Arthur turned to Ginerva's alarmed face.

"What do I do now?" she hissed in a worried whisper.

"Your final number" he grumbled and signalled for the swing to descend into the centre of the room once again. Ginerva glared up at the ginger-haired man but nodded nonetheless, throwing her arms out in a dramatic gesture and grabbing onto the ropes of the swing.

Draco pursed his lips and leant over to his father. "Father, I'm going outside for a smoke" he informed.

"You know I think that it's a disgusting habit for someone so young to smoke" Lucius commented and then cocked an eyebrow at his son, "you can smoke in here, Draco, there's no one to tell us otherwise"

"I thought I was too young" Draco quipped.

"Well I only started smoking when I was twenty-six"

"And I am twenty-four" Draco stated roughly before running a hand down the back of his hot neck. "I need some fresh air, Father, it's too claustrophobic in here"

Lucius waved his hand dismissively, "very well. Just be back in time for the car" Draco nodded and left the booth, just as Ginerva was being hauled back up into the air.

The night air was cool and refreshing as he stepped out onto the worn cobblestones of the road, as he crossed over to a more quieter road for his smoke. The clear night sky allowed the bright lights from the Moulin Rouge and the Eiffle tower a few miles off, lose their glow to the stars and the moon hanging low overhead. Like a large silver coin. He shivered slightly in the late night breeze. There in the dimly lit, moonbathed alleyway sat the Bohemian raggamuffins and the dark haired man whom had danced with Ginerva. Draco felt his stomach knot with jealousy at the image in his mind; it was his job to woo the redhead, to protect his father's investments. And now this dark haired drunkkard was stealing their flame.

He scowled through the darkness as the young boy was curled against a raised step and clutching his stomach. Even in the darkness Draco could see how sickly the boy looked.

He sighed and ran a hand down his face, before pursing his lips around the cigarette and strutting down the alleyway. "Can I be of any assistance, gentlemen?" he asked in his pristine accent.

The men hushed themselves, their glittering eyes staring out at Draco from the darkness. Draco stiffened and straightened his back, the smoke forming a small barrier between him and those eyes. "No" rasped the wizened old man with the long, wiry white beard, "we're fine. You go on your way young man"

It was not a threat, but he rang out ominously in the cool night air nevertheless. Draco bristled, "clearly you are not fine, sir. That young man has ingested far too much alcohol. He looks sick to the bone!"

Blaise straightened up slightly, a hand upon Harry's shoulder as he whimpered into the gutter. "What do you want sir? We were just getting him home"

"Do you require any help?" Draco found himself asking, not at all sure where the words had suddenly sprung from. He never offered to help petty little boys' home after one too many drinks. He cast his eyes upon the dark haired boys' features and felt ice pool into his stomach. Returning his gaze to the sceptical Bohemians he rolled his eyes, "let me help. I am offering out of kindness. He looks much too weak"

"We can help him" Blaise stated stubbornly, his tone harsh and brittle.

Draco gave them all a dark look, "clearly all of you have ingested far too much. Let me help you take him home"

"Why not just return to those jezebels in there?" Flitwick stumbled over himself to shake his fist as Draco. The blonde man thought it was highly amusing that someone so small could act so brave, despite being completely drunk.

"It's too hot and a walk might clear my head. Now I am offering to help; the sooner he gets to bed and goes to sleep the better. The same goes for all of you"

The drunk men eye one another as if havign a silent conversation before they nod to Draco and turn to continue down one of the narrow side-roads. Draco frowned at their retreating backs as the young boy whimpered once again from the stone step. He was clinging to some filthy railings for dear life. Draco grimaced slightly as he knelt down beside the boy and pressed the back of his hand to the boys forehead.

He was warm, but not too feverish.

Sighing he tapped the boys' cheek a few times until he groaned, half-lidded eyes looking everywhere in an unfocused manner. "Wha-?"

"Hello young man, can you tell me where you live?"

"Who are you?" slurred the boy.

"No one special" Draco replied tightly, "come on, your friends have left it to me to take you home"

"The ... the apartment building ... three blocks over ..."

Draco waited for the boy to give him the name of his accomadation but sadly, nothing else passed through the boys lips save for a bubble of saliva the size of a pea. The blonde man sighed and shook his head, before taking one of the boys' wrists in his hand and hauled the heavy arm around his neck.  
With very little effort, as the boy was extremely light that Draco found out, it was easy for him to stand up straight whilst holding onto the young boy. He started to walk along the narrow side-road where the gang of Bohemain's and stumbled down.

Draco found that it was not that difficult to maneuvre the young scruffy-haired boy. The uneven cobblestones paving the road made for some difficulties and the twinge in his left ankle that he now could not get rid of.

Draco was happy when he found the only block of flats near the Moulin Rouge, exactly three and a half blocks down the street, through the small maze of side-roads and alleyways. The building itself looked weather-beaten and run down. A few windows were open to allow the cold air to circulate through boiled hot rooms. There was a rumpled hobo lying in one of the open archways, a bottle of some heavy liquor grasped in his hand. Draco grimaced again, thankful for is own comfortable bed waiting for him.

Draco managed to stumble through the dank archway where there was a narrow staircase leading up to the first floor. It was dimly lit by one single, muddy-yellow, naked bulb hanging low from the ceiling. The wires had been pulled down. The hot bulb loomed just over his head as he twisted onto a narrow landing with the boy still hanging from his neck.

It was beyond awkward.

He jerked the boy with his elbow, forcing him to wake up with a pathetic whimper. "M'sleeping" he croaked, his voice roughened from the long night.

"Come on kid, wake up. What door number do you live at?"

"The one ... with the h-HOLE IN THE r-r-roof"

Draco frowned. "Door number. Which door number, kid?"

"F-f-four"

Satisfied, Draco watched out of the corner of his eyes at the kid's head lulled onto his chest. With some difficulty the room in question was found through the gloom and the door was easily opened despite the awkward handle. They stumbled through into the room and with one swift movement, Draco dumped the boy onto his bed with a grunt. The springs creaked under the boys' weight. Draco sighed and quickly rolled the kid onto his back, threw a thin blanket over his body and promptly turned and left the room.

He was quicker leaving the building than entering it, and as he strode briskly along the pavements to the Moulin Rouge he removed his pocket-watch from his waistcoat pocket and stared down at the gleaming face.

1:02am.

He cursed softly under his breath and quickened his pace. His heels clicked loudly along the cobblestones. The gleam of the gutters glistened in the moonlight. He was visibly panting when he crossed the road outside the Moulin Rouge to find that his father's automobile was stationed outside the door. He swallowed thickly, striaghtened himself up and announced himself. "I'm sorry I am late, Father, I got held up"

His father turned to him, cold grey eyes roaming his son up and down, taking in his vaguely dishevelled hair and rumpled clothes. "I can see. No matter, you are here now" he pointed his sleek black cane to the car, "get in"

Draco obliged without a word.

He sat on the cold seat until his father slid in beside him, after exchanging a few pleasantries with Weasley.

Their driver started the engine and they were soon on their way to their accomodation. His father waited a few moments before he spoke, "so tell me, Draco, where were you?"

"I was having a smoke, like I told you" Draco answered.

"But you told me you were held up"

"Some ruffians wished to prise mother's pocket watch off of me. I couldn't let them take it" he replied, his gaze transfixed on Paris rolling by.

"Hm" was all Lucius managed to say. "Well I ought to let you know that I am considering investing in Weasley's business"

"A whore house" Draco sneered dryly.

His father chuckled, "no, not a whore-house, dear Draco. A theatre. We are going to invest in a show that Weasley assures me is being written by one of the top young writers of Great Britain herself. With all that publicity, how can Ginerva not become a star?"

The question was rhetorical, he knew, but he ventured forth with his own query, "so what are you saying father? That we are to invest on the off chance this young woman becomes a star? Then what?"

Lucius' mouth stretched into a gleaming smirk, "I am having the paperwork drawn-up this evening. Young Ginerva will belong to you. In return you must woo her and please her in any manner necessary and make sure that she remains satisfied"

"What will I gain from this?"

"A constant means of pleasure and satisfcation. And of course the income when she is a star"

"You are implying I must marry her" Draco stated dryly.

"Indeed you must" Lucius stated, "in order to secure that you benefit from this investment on both ends. We will recieve royalties for when she succeeds and you shall continued gaining said royalties throughout and after your marriage"

"After?" Draco finally turned to his father with a raised eyebrow, "pray, father, you are not meaning to kill her?"

Lucius glowered down at his son. "Don't be foolish, boy!" he snapped, "she has a condition, untreatable by doctors, therefore she will perish long before her time. Besides, you will be in control of all of her accounts so whether she lives or dies, you will be the sole benefactor of her earnings"

Draco inhaled deeply through his nose. He supposed it could not be too bad, if the girl was to die sooner rather than later. He would still be able to live half of his life after this investment. That is when a sliver of ice penetrated his thoughts. "This ... this is not up to me to decide, it is Father?"

"No, it is not"

"Then you have already arranged for this sordid proposition to go ahead, with Weasley?"

"Naturally" his father answered coldly.

Draco slumped backwards in his seat, a hand cupping his chin as he glared at the rolling streets outside. "I hate you, Father"

"I know, son"


	4. The Pitch

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the oppurutnity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesean and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influental heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognisable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge  
**

**The Pitch  
**

Late the next afternoon Harry roused in his sweaty tangled sheets and groaned as his hangover collided into his head. He squirmed and thrashed, sweat making his clothes and sheets stick to his skin as if they were glued on. It made him feel so gross -but for now there was nothing he could do about it. He frowned at the blurred hole in the ceiling overhead. He dragged his hand up and tried to locate his glasses, but after a few minutes of groping about on the mattress, decided that they may have fallen off, and gave up his hunt.

He flopped back onto his bed, feeling a little cooler and his head clearing slightly. He inhaled deeply a few times, trying to calm his breathing a little from the blurred panic he had awoken in. The air was thick and musty and laced with the sweet scent of freshly baked bread and wild flowers. It was sweet and soothing. Just what he needed right at that moment.

A timid knock came from his bedroom door. He frowned. Was he expecting someone he couldn't remember? He rolled his head towards the door, his voice rasping in his throat as he called out, "come in"

The door handle clicked open to reveal Blaise, looking extremely hung over but smiling brightly nonetheless. Harry admired him for his smile. "Nice to know you're up" he grinned lazily as he edged into the room, closing the door behind him.

Harry frowned as he noticed the shabby basket grasped in Blaises hand. "What's that in there?"

"Oh this?" Blaise asked as though he had only just noticed the basket himself, "this is lunch. It's a meal eaten generally half-way through the day. Very filling and highly recommended if one has skipped breakfast" the dark-skinned man grinned at his posh accent. It didn't suit him, but it made Harry smile.

"I like lunch" he mumbled just as lazily, his stomach growling like a starved beast.

Blaise laughed and then clutched at his head with a wince. "Laughing hurts" he observed as the pain subsided. He stumbled over and dropped himself on the spare space of Harry's bed and present the goodies towards him; two baguettes, a chunk of cheese, a bag of fruit, a bottle of light wine, and a leg of pre-cooked lamb.

"This looks amazing" Harry breathed as he broken into the bread and sliced up some cheese and meat for a sandwich. Blaise rolled his eyes and bit a chunk out of the leg. It didn't phase Harry as the green-eyed boy merely wrinkled his nose, "you're a pig"

Blaise inclined his head, "I know" They ate in a gentle silence for a while before Blaise spoke up again, "Colin has spoken to Weasley about you meeting up with Ginerva this evening. He seemed very excited"

"Colin or Weasley?" Harry asked drily.

Blaise snickered, "couldn't tell the difference, to be truthful. But you're in kiddo!" he grinned as he ruffled Harry's hair. Harry smiled weakly. Blaise frowned, "what's up? Aren't you excited?"

"Well yes but -I've never been around a woman so ... flamboyant before"

"But Harry that's the best part about it, it'll be all up-front out in the open! Better than those mind-games" he added bitterly, taking a swig from the bottle. "You're to meet her in the Elephant in front of the club tonight at 8 o'clock"

Harry had to admit that Blaise did have a point. You could tell where you stood with a girl like Ginerva. He smiled wider and raised his glass in a toast, "to tonight?"

"To tonight"

~0~

Ginerva was in her dressing room bent over her dressing table as Molly cinched her waist in with stiff-boned corsets that lined the insides of a scarlett dress she was struggling in to. Molly was only too happy to doll the young redhead up, tightening the chords and rolling her eyes as Ginerva gasped for air. "That twinkle-toes Duke has really taken the bait, girl. With a patron like him, you could be the next Sarah Bernhardt" she remarked, trying to take Ginerva's mind off of breathing too much.

"Oh, Marie, do you really think I could be like the Divine Sarah?" Ginerva asked as she looked at the small newspaper clipping of said girl tucked into the corner of her mirror frame.

"Why not? You've got the talent. You hook that Duke, and you'll be lighting up the great stages of Europe!"

Ginerva's face had broken out into a dreamy grin. "I'm gonna do it Mary, be a real actress. A great actress. I'm gonna fly away from here!" she gasped delightfully as she flicked her nails on the birdcage hanging off to one side bedside her mirror. Molly cringed at the sickly chirpy voice instantly trilling from the girls' mouth as she gushed to her little canary, "Oh, yes, we can fly, fly away from here!"

A rough knocking comes from the door but before either woman can pay it any attention, Arthur bounces in looking concerned, "duckling, is everything all right?"

Ginerva choked for air once again as her corsets were tightened. "Oh, yes. Of course, Arthur"

Arthur visibly relax, his wringing hands coming to rest at his sides. It would not do for this investment oppurtunity to go wrong. They needed the money and the publicity. Men would come to their theatre to see the girls, and they would be forced to bring their wives, thereby earning them more money. And then the women would like the feminine costumes, the music and the muscled men that performed alongside the women. Everbody would win. "Oh, thank goodness. You certainly weaved your magic with that duke on the dance floor" he grinned delishly.

Ginerva turned around to face Arthur, her crosets finally fully strung and tightened so that her bossoms projected themselves even further out in front of her, posing for him, showing off her red dress. "How do I look? Smoldering temptress?"

"Oh, my little strawberry! How could he possibly resist from gobbling you up? Everything's going so well!" Arthur was trilling nonesense. He knew it. Ginvera was too exicted, clapping her hands and squealing to care that if she didn't pull off tonight, then her hopes and dreams were over. Possibly for good.

~0~

Colin and the rest of the bohemians were standing below the elephant, looking up at it's bejewelled body in awe. "Unbelievable!" he cried in his squeaky voice, the smell of wine lingering on his breath. "Straight to the elephant!"

Harry was standing with his back to the door, his emerald gaze drinking in the breath-taking view of Paris, spread out before him like a glittering map. He had had a lovely dinner with his bohemian gang, and they had joked around with him about how flirtacious and forward those 'cancan dancers' were. If anything, it had set him on edge. He wasn't good with women. Never had been. He'd had a few sweethearts now and then but nothing serious. A small cough from behind him interrupts his though process. He turned around and felt the blood flow to his groin. There stood Ginerva wearing nothing but a black lace Peignoir and suspenders and high heels, walking in as sexily as she can, her face made-up more delicately and her red curls tumbling freely down her back.

He swallowed hard as he drank in the sight of her creamy skin obscurred by the sheer black lace.

"This is a wonderful place for a poetry reading don't you think?" she cocked an eyebrow as his eyes roamed her body. "Hmm? 'Poetic' enough for you?" she breathes heatedly, trailing her hands down her thighs as she saunters over to the plush array of red velvet pillows on the window seat.

Harry nodded weakly, murmuring a quick, "yes" as he tried to collect himself.

_At that moment in time I had no idea that the bohemians were climbing up the back of the elephant, giggling as they climbed ever higher to spy on my evening with Ginerva._**_  
_**

Ginerva walked over to the long table standing just off centre in the room, laden with rich foods and drinks propped up in buckets of ice. "A little, uh, supper? Maybe some champagne?"

Harry looked her over one more time and felt his stomach knot. He felt queasy once again. Perhaps it was the french wine, perhaps he wasn't used to it yet. "I'd rather just, um, get it over and done with to be honest"

"Oh" Ginerva set the champagne down with a brittle crushing ice in the bucket bucket. She turned around, raised an eyebrow and smiled, trying to be sexy. "Very well. Then why don't you..." she crawled along the bed, never taking her brown eyes off of him. "Come down here? Let's get it over and done with" she bites her lower lip and smacks a hand in confirmation on the pillows beneath her.

It was definitely getting hot now. Harry tugged on his stiff collar, "I-I prefer to do it standing"

Ginerva looked up at him, completely surprised by this revelation. He didn't seem the type of man to want sex standing up. She brushed the thought away and started to stand up to comply with his wishes.

"Y-You don't have to stand" Harry was quick to rush out, his face growing hotter every minute, "I mean, it's quite long and I'd like you to be comfortable"  
The look of surprise on her flawless features makes him continue nervously, "It's quite modern what I do, and it may feel a little strange at first, but I think if you're open, then you might enjoy it" he flashed her a small smile.

To say that Ginerva had not been expecting this at all was an understandment. This man before her was going to make her a star, he liked sex standing up AND he had a new way of said sex, a modern way she was not yet aquainted with. She breathed deeply, her arousal steadily growing, "I'm sure I will"

Harry is nervous by this time. He couldn't think of a single poem or song that he had written in the weeks and months before journeying to Paris. He tried to get some inspiration from looking at her, but by the way she was moaning and feverishly posing on the bed in what he assumed were Parisian erotic poses, he simply could not think. He mumbled to himself several times about 'blue skies' and 'bluebirds' but nothing comes to his head. Some of the moans that were escaping her red mouth were arousing enough to stir his blood.

He frowned. He couldn't. Not yet. Colin needed this -they all did.

"I know. Come on" He blew a few raspberries to try and think coherently. "Come on!"

Ginerva was growing impatient. Normally she was mounting the rather small erections of her other suitors. Why was he being so difficult? All she had to do was seduce and fuck him and then they would be home and dry. She stopped her moaning and sat up on the edge of the bed. "Um, is everything all right?" she asked in a hoarse voice, trying to sound as concerned as possible.

Harry nodded, swallowing as he ran a hand down his face. "Um, I'm a little nervous. It's just sometimes it takes a while for-"

Ginerva was once again surprised. He had difficulties getting it up? "Oh!" It WAS a surprise, considering the bragging he'd just been doing.

"You know, inspiration to come"

Ginera gets off the bed and walks up to him, her eyes heavily lidded as her hand reach out for his belt. This was one challenge she didn't want to pass up. "Oh, yes, yes, yes. Let Mummy help, hmm?" She reached down and grabbed his crotch. Harry gasped, his head tilting back in pleasure. "Does that inspire you?" she purred heatedly in his ear before she pushed him backwards onto the bed. "Let's make love!"

"Make love?" he repeated nervously.

"You want to make love, don't you?" she trilled, sliding up to straddle his waist, her redhead falling into both of their faces.

"Well, I came to-"

"No, tell the truth. Can't you feel the poetry?" She purred as her hands came up to undo his shirt.

"W-What?"

_The bohemians were on top of the elephant by this point, having successfully managed to climb on top of it. As I was being stripped off by Ginerva's foolish hands, Blaise and the others were lowering Colin down so he can spy on us both through the gaping front window._

"Oh, come on. Feel it!" Ginerva urged desperately, clutching on his belt and ringing it in its loops. "Free the tiger!"

"Oh!" Harry cried out as her long nails dig into his soft flesh.

Ginerva yelps and screams and growls as she clawes at the defenceless brunette beneath her. When she finally managed to release his manhood from his trousers she gasps, her eyes wide. "Big boy" she breathed as she gazed at his length.

Colin gasped from where he was growing light-headed and at the sight before him. "He's got a huge talent!" he yells up at Blaise and the others whose eyes widen.

"Yes, I need your poetry NOW!" she growls huskily, pounding her fists upon him, running her hands over his freed erection and clutching at his hair.

"All right!" Harry was panicking as he struggled to get out from underneath the writhing mass of black lace and red curls. He rolled off of the bed and scooted away as quickly as possible, being quick to tuck his erection away, not noticing Colin's wide eyes from the window as he gasps. "It's a little bit funny" he pants, as he turns around to face a frustrated Ginerva.

"What?" she almost snarled, her eyes flashing demonically.

"This f-feeling in-inside. I'm not one of those who can- who can easily hide. Is this- Is this okay? Is this what you want?" he looked at her, concerned, not sure on what to do or what to say.

"Oh, poetry. Yes. Yes. Yes, this is what I want, naughty words" he watched with a frown as she started to erotically roll around on the bed of tangled scarlett sheets, "Oh, naughty!"

He could not go on. He could not take the shrill cries of passion, the trembling limbs, the flurry of red curled hair flicking back and forth. He wanted to covger his ears and scream for her to stop. This wasn't right! He looked out from the window and tried to drown out her moans. There was a small cafe just opposite the Elephant, it had low lights and hanging baskets over-flowering with vine-like plants.

It looked beautiful.

He tried to focus on it, tried to imagine being in there, sipping in the gentle hum of the evening. A spalsh of white-gold caught his attention and he stared at the bright haired male sitting idly on one of the outside tables, sipping a glass of dark red wine.

"Oh God YES!" came a cry from behind him, and Harry could not take it anymore.

_**'MY GIFT IS MY SONG'**_

The whole city of Paris lit up. People in the street turned to look up at the shadowed figure of the man with the sweet voice, serenading upon the Elephant. Harry is glad to note the silence from behind him.

_**'AND THIS ONE'S FOR YOU ... AND YOU CAN TELL EVERYBODY -THAT THIS IS YOUR SONG -IT MAY BE QUITE SIMPLE, BUT -NOW THAT IT'S DONE'**_

The blond man is one of the many at the cafe whom had turned their attention upon him. Harry smiled. He is singing to all of Paris, to the love he felt for this new city that had sparked such inspiration in him. It was truly beautiful.

_**'HOPE YOU DON'T MIND -I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND -THAT I PUT DOWN IN WORDS ... HOW WONDERFUL LIFE IS NOW YOU'RE IN THE WORLD'**_

Reluctantly,he turns around so that he is once again facing Ginerva. He has captured her attention with his words, his voice. His passion. She was enthralled and almost elegant in the way she moved towards him as he sang his song. The words were just slipping from his mouth, as he extended a hand towards her. She slid her long elegant fingers into his own.

She smiled softly up at him, entraced.

**_'SAT ON THE ROOF ... AND I KICKED OFF THE MOSS ... WELL, SOME OF THESE VERSES ... WELL, THEY, THEY GOT ME QUITE CROSS'_**

Using the ballroom dance lessons he had taken as a child, he was quick to start engaging the young redhead into an intricate waltz. This was going so well, he was winning the goldmine for Colin and the others. And he got to dance with an attractive young woman at the same time. He had failed in having sex with her but perhaps he could win her over this way.

_**'BUT THE SUN'S BEEN KIND -WHILE I WROTE THIS SONG ...IT'S FOR PEOPLE LIKE YOU -THAT KEEP IT TURNED ON ... SO EXCUSE ME FORGETTING -BUT THESE THINGS I DO ... YOU SEE, I'VE FORGOTTEN -IF THEY'RE GREEN OR THEY'RE BLUE'**_

Ginerva giggled. Harry gave a wry grin as he waltzed her throughout the room, letting her hands slide wherever they pleased.

_**'ANYWAY, THE THING IS -WHAT I REALLY MEAN -YOURS ARE THE SWEETEST EYES ... I'VE EVER SEEN'**_

He twirled Ginerva around, as they ever so slowly return to the reality within the Elephant. Ginerva swooned in his arms, her heart fluttering with the wonderful song still humming in her ears. "Oh. I can't believe it. I'm in love. I'm in love with a young, handsome, talented Duke"

Through his exhilerated smile, Harry asked, "Duke?"

"Not that the title's important, of course" Ginerva breathed against his cheek.

"I'm not a Duke"

"Not a Duke?"

"I'm a writer"

At first Ginerva does not appear to be paying attention to what Harry had just said judging by the way she was still nuzzling up against him. That is when it hits her, as though in slow motion. Her brows crease in a frown and her smile vanished to be replaced with a confused pout. "A writer?"

"Yes, a writer"

"No!" Ginerva cried out, pushing herself away from his embrace. How could this have happened? Colin had had specific instructions to wave the -Ginerva's large brown eyes widen in horror. "Oh, no. You're not another of Toulouse's oh-so-talented, charmingly bohemian, tragically impoverished proteges?"

"You might say that, yes" Harry said timidly with a small grin.

She clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh, no! I'm going to kill him! I'm going to kill him!"

"There might be a small hitch" Colin insisted as the grip on his ankles loosened slightly.

Ginerva started running to the door of the room in an angered flare. Harry gets up and began running after her. "Colin told me-"

"What about the Duke?" Ginerva snaps as she wrenched open the door, and to her horror, she gets a view of Arthur outside of it talking with the real Duke. She slams the door shut and looked at Harry with fear in her eyes, "The Duke!"

"The Duke?" Harry asked with a frown on his features. What was wrong with the Duke? Was there something wrong? Then it hit him. She had thought that he was the Duke. He inwardly groaned.

"Hide! Out the back!" she snapped, quickly shooing him in all directions with her frantic hands.

"My dear, are you decent for the Duke?" Arthur called out as he opened the door. Ginerva managed to knee Harry down beneath the long table and turn around with flushed features just in time for Arthur to present Lucius and Draco Malfoy to her. With pink cheeks, she looked both men up and down before cocking an eyebrow in what she hoped was a seductive manner. Arthur smiled, "dearest Duke. Allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Ginerva"

Moving her hand across her leg, seductively, Ginerva parts her lips and smiled at the two blonde men, "Mmm, Monsieur, how wonderful of you to take the time out of your busy schedule to visit"

Lucius eyed the tarty little thing before him, and extended his hand towards her own, bringing it up to his lips, "The pleasure, I fear, will be entirely mine, my dear."

"I'll leave you two squirrels to get better acquainted. Ta-ta." Arthur left the room almost as quickly as he had entered it.

Harry poked his head out from beneath lace tablecloth covering the table to see what was happening between the aristocratic blonde man and Ginerva just in time to see the older blonde press a kiss to the knuckles of her hand. The younger blonde, began turning his head in the direction of the table. Harry ducked further underneath. Unfortunately, the movement of the white lace had not gone unnoticed by the younger blonde.

"After tonight's pretty exertions on the stage, you must surely be in need of refreshment, my dear" Lucius brandished his gleaming cane and made for the table when Draco stopped him.

Lucius eyed his son with a similar smirk, "why of course, Draco, you fetch us the refreshments and then you may join us"

"Of course, Father" bowing his head slightly until his Father had disappearred into the alcove, with the redhead on his arm, Draco grabbed the lace tablecloth and ripped it up from the table. He could not believe his eyes when a very familiar face stared back at him with doe-like eyes. "What on earth are you doing here, kid?" he hissed.

"Don't be foolish father, this young woman has two men to dote on her, I'll grab the bottle and you can confess how thrilling her performance was for you, over there, on the love-seat" Draco smirked knowingly at his father.

"Apparently that woman in there thought I was either you are your bloody father" Harry snapped, more so out of fear than anything else.

Draco blinked, trying to comprehend what he was being told. "But -you look nothing like either of us!"

"So you can see why I am struggling to arrive at her hypothesis as well" Harry sighed and adjusted himself on his knees, to rub some grit off of his hands. "I just need to get out of here and pretend this evening never happened"

"What -why were you even down there? What purpose -?"

"I was auditioning myself to write the play for the new theatre they plan to create here. I think she thought I was an investor instead of a writer"

"You need to leave here as soon as possible" Draco hissed sharply, training his ears to keep a track on where his father and the redhead were.

"How?"

"Follow my lead, alright?"

Harry looked up at the blonde. He appearred exactly like his father, aristocratic, pompous, up his own backside, but there was a glimmer in those silvery eyes that Harry couldn't bring himself to distrust. "Okay"

Draco grabbed Harry by the collar and tugged him towards the door, He opened the door and shoved Harry onto the other side before turning back to address the room, "Oh Father, Weasley has sent us a small guest to entertain us"

Lucius merely hummed in displeasure, whilst Ginerva whipped her head around. The look on her bloodless face made Draco's smirk widen, as he dragged Harry back into the room. "Well, who is it?"

"A young writer whom may be directing the show that the lovely Ginerva shall be starring in"

Harry felt every muscle in his body tense as he was presented, like a possible prize, to the Duke, Lucius Malfoy. His slicked back white-blonde hair gleamed in the lamplight. His cold grey eyes sent shiver's through Harry's body and a pool os ice to form in his stomach, making him feel queasy all over again. The passionate distaste eminating from Lucius' form as he eyed the slightly ruffled Harry up and down, was all too clear.

"Well boy?" Lucius snapped sharply, "you interupt us in the middle of the night to gawk at us? What do you want?"

"Father, do lower your voice lest you wake the rest of Paris" Draco sneered at his harsh father, seeing the fear sparking in the kid's eyes. "He wants to know if you would like to hear his pitch?"

"Pitch?" Ginerva squeaked in wide-eyed fear.

"How's the pitch going?" came a high-pitched voice from the balcony. The foursome turn their heads to see Colin grinning at the all, the other Bohemians milling around him.

"Oh God" Ginerva whined into her hands.

"Shall we take it from the top, eh, my queen?"

Flitwick hobbled over to the piano, furrowing his small bushy eyebrows and grumbling to himself as he prepared to strike out a tune, "I hope the piano's in tune"

"Sorry. Got held up." Dumbeldore apologised as he helped himself to some fruit.

"Can I offer you a drink?" Blaise asked, plonking himself down beside Ginerva, his dark eyes delving into her cleavage as he brandished an oepend bottled of wine.

"If you're going over a pitch," Lucius sneered at the gang that had now formed, looking so roughened and out of place against the sleek scarlet hangings, "where's Weasley?"

"We didn't bother Arthur-" Colin started and was silenced as the door he was standing in front of, burst open, sending him flying forwards onto his face.

"My dear Duke, I'm most terribly sorry."

"Arthur, you made it!" Exclaimed Flitwick as he patted the taller mans elbow, "It's all right. The Duke knows all about the emergency pitch performance. It was short-notice I know, forgive me, but we simply had to pitch it before someone else stole it and sold it on the black market"

At the mention of the black market, Lucius' posture visibly stiffened and he striaghtened himself, eyeing the now crowded room. Arthur bit his lip and plastered a foe cheery grin on his face, "Oh of course! I'm sure Audrey will be only too delighted-"

"Audrey's left" Colin squeaked as he hopped up onto the table's edge to sit, earning him a dark scowl from Draco, Lucius and Ginerva.

"He's what?" Arthur hissed darkly as he leaned in close to glare angrily down into Colin's fearful eyes.

"Yes, the Duke's already a big fan of our new writer's work. That's why he's so keen to invest" Colin stammered weakly, not seeing how Ginerva's eyes sparked delightfully behind Arthur's back and how Lucius' grip on his cane tightened to the point of the wood splintering.

"Invest! Oh, yes, well, invest! You can hardly blame me for trying to hide, uh-"

Harry coughed as Arthur silently begged him for his name. "Harry" he choked on the word.

"-Young Harry away"

"I'm way ahead of you, Weasley" sneered Lucius, not too pleased with the turn of events.

"My dear Duke. Why don't you and I go to my office to peruse the paperwork?"

"What's the story?" Lucius snapped harshly, his tone growing weary as the other's thought they had gotten away with the scandal.

"The story?" Arthur echoed, his stomach dropping into his shoes.

"Well, if I'm to invest, I'll need to know the story" the older blonde man chuckled darkly.

"Ah, yes. Well, the story's about- Colin?"

Everyone's head snaps to Colin to watch him stammering awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, "Well, the story's- the story's about- Well, it's-it's about-"

"It's about love." Harry stated simply, his limbs quivering with everyone's attention.

Lucius looked at Harry as though he were the lowest bit of scum on the earth, "Love? Ha!"

"It's about love overcoming all obstacles" he allowed his gaze to run over to Ginerva who blushed and smiled sweetly in return. He glanced at a small Indian Elephant statue and more ideas colldied in his head, "India. It's set in India -a-and there's a courtesan" he looked back over towards Ginerva, "the most beautiful courtesan in all the world. But her kingdom's invaded by an evil maharajah! Now, in order to save her kingdom, she has to seduce the evil maharajah. However, on the night of the seduction, she mistakes a penniless- a penni-" He spotted a lone a sitar resting against a wall, "a penniless sitar player for the evil maharajah, and she falls in love with him" He gives Ginerva a meaningful look, praying that she understood what he was trying to tell her, "h-he wasn't trying to trick her or anything b-but he was dressed as a maharajah because ... he's appearing in a play"

Blaise swiped up the sitar and caressed it like a long-lost lover, "I will play the penniless tango-dancing sitar player. He will sing like an angel, but dance like the devil"

Lucius scoffed, "Yes, all right. And what happens next?"

Harry fumbled for ideas, begging something to spring to mind, "well, the penniless sitar player and the courtesan, they have to hide their love from the evil maharajah"

"The penniless sitar player's sitar is magical. It can only speak the truth!" Dumbledore rasps, wiggling his long, crooked fingers in the air.

"And-and I will play the magical sitar!" Colin states proudly. He plunked on a chord, emitting a strangled 'twang'. Colin's eyes moved to Ginerva, "You are beautiful" he announced. She flushed as he plunked again, her gaze turning to Arthur, "you are ugly", he then turned his cold eyes over to Lucius, "and you are-" six pairs of hands smacked over his mouth to stiffle the rest of the sentence.

Lucius sneered, not in the least bit amused, "filth"

Arthur looked at Lucius and instantly panicked at the cold demeanure. "Tell him about the cancan!" he demanded to Harry.

"The-The tantric cancan-"

"It's an erotic spectacular scene that captures the thrusting, violent, vibrant, wild bohemian spirit that this whole production embodies, er ... Duke" Arthur finished lamely, the excited flush on his cheeks looked almost painful in the red lighting.

A sleek blonde eyebrow rose in disdaniful curiosity, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean the show will be a magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan, bedazzlement, a sensual ravishment. It will be..."

Flitwick ran out a tune on the piano.

Lyircs fell from mouths.

Vibrant imagery came to life in the dark, shallow mind of Lucius Malfoy.

_ELEPHANTS ... ARABIANS ... INDIANS ... AND COURTESANS ... ACROBATS ... AND JUGGLING BEARS ... EXOTIC GIRLS ... FIRE-EATERS!_

_MUSCLE MEN ... CONTORTIONISTS ... INTRIGUE ... DANGER ... AND ROMANCE ...ELECTRIC LIGHTS, MACHINERY, AND ALL THAT ELECTRICITY!_

Lucius cocked an eyebrow as the group jittered and thrived on the spontaneous ideas, Harry mentally taking notes to write it all down and include it in the play he now had to write from scratch.

"Yes, but what happens in the end?" he asked curtly, in a taut, clear voice. Draco inwardly smirked as he watched everyone's faces panic with sheer blankness.

"The courtesan and Sitar man a-are pulled apart by an evil plan-"

"But in the end she hears this song -and their love is just too strong!" chimed Ginerva, raking Harry over with her lustful brown eyes.

_SO EXCITING, THE AUDIENCE WILL STOMP AND CHEER ... SO DELIGHTING IT WILL RUN FOR 50 YEARS_

"I shall play the evil maharajah!" announced Arthur, finally relaxing and getting into the swing of things as music trills constantly from the piano. "You will not escape!" he stated, pointing a breadstick at Lucius' eyes in a vain immitation of a duel challenge.

"Oh, Arthur, no one could play him like you could" gushed Ginerva, fluttering her gigner eyelashes.

"No one's going to" the red-haired man stated proudly.

"In the end, should someone die?" Lucius asked with sadistic smirk marring his mouth.

There was a still, tense silence at the implication of the words. A chill ran through the air. Thankfully, much to Harry's relief, the group rebounded with smiling faces, and jovenile singing and larking about that nothing could keep the relieved smile from his mouth.

As soon as they had stopped playing the piano and singing around with a vague idea of what to write about fastened within a scrap of napkins in Harry's back trouser pocket. Now, fuelled with drink and some rich food, Harry and his Bohemian gang were ready to call it a night and head home to sleep when Arthur insisted on fracturing their hazy silence.

"So, dear Duke, what do you think?"

The silence could be cut with a knife.

Draco cast a sideways glance at his father, not knowing what he would say.

"Generally," Lucius drawled, massaging the head of his cane with disinterest, "I like it"


	5. Obsessions & Possessions

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the oppurutnity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesean and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influental heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognisable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge  
**

**Obsessions & Possessions**

_Zidler had an investor, and the bohemians had a show._

"The end of the century! The bohemian revolution is here!"

Harry smiled wanly as Colin's high-pitched screams streamed down through the loud music that was thriving in the flat above his own. Smoke could be seen coiling in the cool breeze outside the window. The party was thriving and buzzing upstairs. The floorboards groaned awkwardly underneath the weight of all the dancing people upstairs.

_While the celebration party raged upstairs, I tried to write. But all I could think about was the previous night_.

Harry ran a hand through his hair with a tired sigh. He probably should sleep but his muscles refused to relax, "how wonderful life is ..."

_Was she thinking about me?_

"Now you're in ... the world" his voice rumbled out on his tongue before her pursed his lips together against the evening breeze. It was going to be a long night for him.

Ginerva was perched on the love-seat in the Elephant, the scent of Lucius Malfoys' cologne hanging heavily in the air, mixing with the late night scent of waxing candles and wine. From across the square a dull buzzing of a party in full swing had her attention grabbed, it had been ages since she had been to a party for herself.

"_Duke? I'm not a duke. I'm a writer. He wasn't trying to trick her or anything. It's about love. It's about love overcoming all obstacles_" she tossed her head from side-to-side as the young writer's -Harry's -words rolled in and out of focus in her mind. She could not let him gain control of her passion for romance and money -and this play was bound to make her a Star. She could not jeopardise that. She glanced up at the buzzing apartment across the sqaure and frowned down at the small garrett beneath as a young man with mussed black hair, seats himself at a type-writer.

In the palace behind the Elephant and over-shadowing the Moulin Rouge, lit only by the smouldering blue embers of a fire long dead, the young blonde heir drew in a long breath from his cigarette, wishing the throbbing within his skull would cease. He'd had a headache before dinner had started. Since they had returned from the pitch of the young, boisterous writer and his gang of ruthless Bohemians. It was a side to life Draco had yet to witness, and now that he had he was intrigued. He took another draw of his cigarette, and decided that a nice nightly stroll would ease his head.

Harry couldn't write. No matter how hard he tried he could not write. The music was too loud above him, and the lights were too bright for him to focus in the recesses of his mind. He sighed and pushed himself away from the small square desk he had aquired, to stand at his window again, looking out at the Elephant, where a gleam of red is gradually climbing up to the small, golden temple perched upon the beasts back. He grabbed his worn jacket and bolted from his garret.

Draco was on his way across the cobblestone square when his body collided with one much small and sturdier than his own. He toppled backwards and dropped to his side, the cigarette dropping from his lips and the stone grazing his skin. "Sorry!" yelped a voice above him, "I didn't mean to- I-"

"What?" Draco snarled, spitting out onto the cobblestones. His cheeks were enflamed with embarassment. He glared up through his blonde fringe, "you?" he asked incredilously.

Harry blinked and then his stutter resumed rapidly, "Oh God I -I'm so sorry I -if there's anything I can do to-"

Draco held up a hand to silence the idiotic ramblings of the brat. He was so careless and obviously blind to where he was going. "Well?" Draco hissed, "you want to help me? Why am I still on the floor?"

Harry jumped into action, wiping his hand onto the hem of his coat, and grabbing Draco's hand. He swallowed hard. He had not felt hands so soft and strong before. It was an odd mixture of sensations. Once the blonde man was on his feet, Harry jerked his hand away as though he had been set on fire. "I'm awfully sorry for running into you like that, Sir"

"Well you should learn to look where you're going" Draco snapped, straightening his coat and smoothing his golden hair back into place. It gleamed in the moonlight, as did his China skin. A cold eye scrutinised Harry, "what on earth were you doing in such a hurry?"

"I couldn't sleep, and I wanted to thank Ginerva for helping me get the job"

Draco looked down at the young boy to see if he was serious. He was. Those unwavering emerald eyes were so open and honest, it frightened Draco to his core. "Yes well -the young lady is under strict house arrest outside of working hours. If anything, she did it all to benefit herself. She did not do it for you"

He watched as something inside the young dark-haired boy crumbled, "I see. Well -I should be getting back then. Also, thank you"

"Why on earth are you thanking me?" Draco asked, his own eyes wide and incredilous, and expression he was trying vainly to suppress. "What did I do?"

"If you had not dragged me back inside and introduced me to your father -this may not have happened"

Draco felt a smirk twitch his mouth, "yes well -Weasley was right. So far, it appears that you are talented"

A shy smile caressed Harry's lips as something warm flowered within his stomach. It was a sweet sight. "Oh well ... I suppose I should be getting back if I intend to get the script written"

Draco wanted to choke on air. Instead he cocked a sleek, intimidating eyebrow. "You have not written the script yet?" Harry shook his head, "then how, pray tell, was my father pitched an idea that he liked without any substance to back it all up?"

Harry shrugged, feeling happy and too tired to fully wither in fear at the blonde's arsh switch in attitude and raised voice, "like you said, I must be talented. Especially if someone as culturally educated as you and your father liked it"

Draco bristled at this, his narrowed eyes gleaming silver slits in his face. "Whoever gave you the impression that _I_ liked it?"

Harry's head snapped up to look into the blonde's eyes, "you don't like it?"

Draco cocked a shoulder, "there is definate room for improvement in some areas"

"I-I'd better to because we, uh- we both have a big day tomorrow" Harry stated as his eyes glanced up at the Church clock that loomed over them. It was a large building a good mile or so away but could still be seen everywhere.

"Yes well try to be weary of Ginerva" Draco advised, not sure why his mouth was working alone without his permission.

"Yes. Silly of me, to think that someone like her could fall in love with someone like me"

Draco snorted, more to himself than to Harry. "She can't fall in love with anyone, kid. That's how she lives her life and she is comfortable with that, as am I"

Intrigued by the new information dribbling forth from the blonde's petal pink mouth, Harry looked over his shoulder from where he'd turned to walk home. "Can you not fall in love either, Sir?"

"Like Ginerva I am not allowed to fall in love"

"Not allowed to fall in love? But a life without love, that -that's terrible!"

"No, being on the street, that's terrible" Draco emphasised, his hand absently stroking the delicate trim on his waistcoat beneath his dinner jacket.

Harry caught the motion before shaking his head, a bemused expression on his face. "No, love is like oxygen!"

"What are you on about, Kid?"

"Love is many-splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love"

Draco rolled his eyes and the child like glee ignited within the young writer's eyes. "Love is just a game kid, a cruel and toxic game that makes all players lose"

Harry frowned up at the young blonde heir, wondering when the man had become so dense and cold-hearted. "What happened to you?" he breathed, his air misting up his lenses and the night air grew steadily colder.

A dark formation of shadowed expressions cross the blond mans face. "Nothing happened"

"Something must have one"

"No, kid, nothing happened IS what happened"

"Stop being this cloak and dagger mastermind and just tell me what happened to you to turn your heart to stone!"

Draco felt something inside him snap. How dare this young pleblian address him in such a manner! He was Draco Malfoy for goodness sake! Taking a step forward, it was easy work to wrap his fingers around the young man's throat and draw him closer, their hot breath mixing with the freezing air. "Don't you dare talk to me like that, brat!" Draco spat out, his fingers flexing against Harry's windpipe. The boy gasped for air as he watched saliva foam between the heir's clenched teeth. His eyes were like silver flames.

"I -I'm sorry"

"Are you Hell!" Draco seethed, "you have no right to talk to me in that manner, do you understand me?"

"I -y-yes I'm sorry, sir"

Draco looked down at the fear he was invoking into such a small creature. A young man who knew nothing of the world, knew nothing of how cruel love could be, knew nothing about what he -himself -had endured to become the man he was today. "Just go" he growled, releasing his fingers and pushing the young boy away from him. He could not look into those open eyes. Not now, not ever.

"I'm not leaving when you're in this state -Sir"

"It's not an option, kid" Draco stated tonelessly, feeling the headache return full-force. He squeezed his eyes to suppress it.

"Do you have a headache?"

Draco scoffed, however it came out as more of a sigh. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only when you know what to look for" Draco looked up to see that Harry was offering him a small smile. "I have something that can help you with it -if you want"

"No, you're fine. You just get home and sleep. It's a big day tomorrow"

"No, I don't mind. Please? As a form of apology?"

"It's a cheap form of apology -but ... I'll accept"

Harry inclined his head with a smile, "I would say follow me but according to Colin, you already somewhat know my address"

"That I do"

They walked along the cobblestone pavements in silence. The silence was more due to the cold than either of them being uncomfortable with one another. Harry was not too worried about what the heir would think of his home; it was basic and simple and for now it was all he really needed. This play would help him gain some fortune, he hoped, and then he could travel Europe like he had dreamed. Maybe he could write plays in other countries. Or sell his songs and poetry. Draco, on the other hand, was grateful that his father had a business meeting with Weasley, otherwise he would have most likely sent his bodyguards out on a hunt for Draco's blood. He shuddered at the thought as they turned underneath a stone archway and mounted the narrow stone staircase that led to the fourth floor of Harry's building.

"Do excuse the mess" Harry apologised as he groped around in his pockets for the small brass key, "'ve had trouble getting my thoughts down onto paper"

"I am sure that it happens to most writers"

"Well this is the first time I have lived alone and as it is only me -I don't feel the need to clean up after myself too much. You're the first invited guest I've had in here since I moved to Paris"

"I feel honoured" Draco stated with a tired smile on his lips as Harry went around igniting the lights and flooding the room in a yellow glow.

"Feel free to snoop while I clean up"

"Oh I know I am allowed. I would have done so anyway but I was being polite"

Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw that Draco was smirking over at him. It was an esy expression adn Harry found himself smiling slightly too, "well please, your honour snoop to your hearts content"

"Well at least you address me as your superior"

"Yes well I grew up with manners too"

Draco smirked and reclined slightly in the sturdy chair, the smooth wooden frame shimmering beneath his fingertips as he stroked it. He glanced around the room again; pale yellow walls caught the light of the candles beautifully, long shadows from upstairs where music boomed loudly and where Harry was moving some things around, dance along the walls. The moonlight from outside the open windows caught on the typewriter and made it gleam.

The bed was a simple metal frame, a small double if anything, with some plain white sheets, a coverless duvet and a large, thick red blanket tossed over everything. Through the small doorway that led into an adjoining room, Draco could make out a small pantry that looked rather dark and cold and was crammed with small provisions of food and bottles of wine and ale.

"So, kid, how long have you been living in Paris?" he asked, his voice seeming to echo off of all of the walls.

"Little under a week, in all honesty" came Harry's muffled reply from the pantry.

"Is that all?" Draco asked cooly as he eased himself out of the chair to 'snoop' as the young man had so elegantly put it. There was a stack of papers next to the typewriter that had not been blown about in the wind and Draco was curious as to how 'marvelous' this young lad was at the written word. He took a few sheets of papter within his hand, grinding his teeth and the coarse feel of it, and went back to his chair, that creaked gently as he sat back down.

_She is a luminescent beauty that follows me almost every night of the month. Oh, I wish i could see her in the daytime, and sometimes I do, surfign the brink of the cloudy horizon int the pink-kissed sky. And then she fades away from me._

_Her beauty is radaint, glowing for miles on end that millions turn their eyes away from their partners to gaze into her eyes, her milky skin and her platinum halo of hair. She is almost a mystery to me, but that is why I love how cold her eyes are, they remind me I am one in a million with so little chance to touch her that it is almost laughable._

_Her ink dress dotted with silver crystals sparkles wherever she glides. She is elegant, majestic, her smooth features can turn into a sharp cornered mouth.  
_

_I think she is beauty no matter what angle I gaze upon her. She will forever strike me in the darkest of nights, peering in through my window and illuminating life around me. I am desperate to touch her but she will forever dance away from me. One day I will touch her, run my fingers through the platinum hair, and poke the dimples left my her sharp-cornered smile.  
_

Draco was amazed at the delicacy of such words, such love for this mystery woman, and yet an ugly feeling boiled within his stomach and reared its head as Harry came back into the room, carrying a bottle of mulled wine and a plate of cheese, bread, fruit and cold was a meagre meal but Draco was hungry to feed the beast within him.

Harry smiled at the peice of paper in Draco's hand, "ah so I see you have found one of my snippets of rubbish, then?"

"I wouldn't go as far as to call it rubbish, kid. You have talent" the blond man admitted whilst taking a long sip of the warm wine. A sharp burst of rich fruit collided with his tongue.

Harry smiled, "why thank you, sir. It is indeed an honour to hear someone as high up as you compliment my work"

"Well you deserve it" Draco managed to say through clenched teeth, "so who is it about?"

"Nobody"

Draco frown in disbelief, "it is rather emotional and well-written to be about nobody"

Harry ran a hand down his face, "it's about Luna"

Cold seeped through into Draco's bloodstream. "And does Luna know that you're off gallivanting around Paris hoping to bed a whore?"

Harry looked taekn-aback by the venom in the heir's words, and the snarlign spitting formation they had fallen in. "Are you alright?"

"Fine" Draco snapped harshly, "I just wouldn't think you one for bigamy" Harry frowned and was about to protest harshly when realisation dawned on him. He laughed. It started out as a stiffled chuckle but then he just could not hold it in any longer. Draco glowered at the young boy before him. He steepled his fingers and leant back in the chair, "I do not see how this is a laughing matter, kid"

"Oh I can assure you, sir, that is it" Harry gasped out, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "For you see, you percieve Luna as an actual woman, whereas I call the moon by her Italian name, Luna"

"Why would you do such a ridiculous thing?" Draco snipped, the ugly feeling slowly recoiling within him.

Harry shrugged from where he was sat on the arm of a weak-looking chair. "To give her a personality, I suppose"

Draco could not help but smile into his wine, "you tease too much with your words, kid"

"Oh I know. It makes everything more exciting!"

Draco let his eyes run over Harry's body; his round frames, his tousselled black hair, his creamy skin and laughing emerald eyes. To write anything about such a beauty would be a crime. He raised his glass in a silent toast, which Harry mirrored with a flush rising up on his cheeks. "You're gonna be bad for business. I can tell" Draco breathed as fireworks began to dance throughout the still night sky.

Neither man noticed a rather drunk Colin perched above the window, his little legs dangling down in front of the panes, humming to himself, "how wonderful life is *hiccough* now you're in the ... woooooooooorld"

_How wonderful life was, now Draco was in the world. But in the Duke, Lucius Malfoy, Arthur Weasley had gotten much more then he had bargained for._

"The conversion of the Moulin Rouge into a theater will cost a fantastic sum of money" Lucius stated as he swirled a glass of brandy in his hand. The amber liquid swirling made Arthur's stomach clench uneasily. "So in return, I would require a contract that, shall we say, binds Ginerva to my son, exclusively. Naturally, I shall require some security. I shall require the deeds to the Moulin Rouge"

Arthur looks down at the sheaf of papers that Lucius had slid across his desk. The elabourate signature of the Duke is already inscribed upon the pearly parchment. Could he really do it? Could he sign over his life's work to a snob who would whisk his star away from her calling? "My dear Duke, I-"

"Don't think that I'm naive, Weasley. I shall hold the deeds to the Moulin Rouge. And if there are any shenanigans my manservant's Crabbe and Goyle, will deal with it in the only language you underworld show folk understand" the cold silver eyes were now nothing but black ice. There was no compassion within that stony heart of his. Nothing but obsessiveness and possessiveness. "Ginerva will belong to me! It's not that I'm a jealous man, I JUST DON'T LIKE OTHER PEOPLE TOUCHING MY THINGS!"

"I thought you w-wished to marry your son off to Ginerva?"

"Keep your eyes open, Weasley, should Draco fail his end of the bargain, I shall take his place"

Arthur swallowed thickly, feeling a sickly feeling growing within him, "I.. understand.. completely, Duke"

"Good. Now that we have an understanding, it would appear that, uh, you the means to transform your beloved Moulin Rouge-"

"Into a theater!" Arthur announced the next morning the sheer excitement making everyone join in the gay laughter and clapping.

Once back stage with the builders, Lucius crawls up behind Arthur like the snake that he is and hissed in his ear, "I shall insist that Draco woo Ginerva over supper ...tonight"

Arthur sighed as he watched the Duke retreat back onto the other side of the curtain.

There was no way out of this.


	6. Critique

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the oppurutnity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesean and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influental heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognisable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge  
**

**Critique**

Harry was on edge the next morning as he blew dust off of his brown leather briefcase and stuffed as many short stories, and poems and almost anything with a written word on it, into the leather case and clipped the brass straps shut.

He had been summoned to a meeting in Weasley's office and he was told to bring some things for them to read, to see his full talent.

The weather was nice and bright, the sky was beaming with golden summer light and the air smelled of sweet, strong flowers and the opening bakeries along the streets. It was a good day today, he decided as he sat in the tin bathtub, the barely tepid water turning milky white with the soap. Small clusters of bubbles floated lazily in the morning light.

He felt cleaner with every passing second as he scrubbed the dirt from underneath his fingernails. When had they gotten so dirty? He scrubbed and rinsed every inch of his body, the lukewarm water soothing his skin and rinsing away the small soap bubbles. His face was another matter; a small matted black beard was attempting to sprout on his face however it seemed to be having difficulty. It was only a few days old but it made him look like a drunk, he decided as he eyed himself in the side of the bath.

He furrowed his eyebrows and pulled childish faces at himself before deciding that the water was no cool enough to climb out of. He listened to the water running off his skin and back into the tub before climbing out and reaching for his somewhat luxurious towels he had brought over from England. They were soft and white and warm from lying in a patch of sunlight on his desk. He buried his nose into the fluffy fabric and inhaled the scent of 'home'.

Towel-drying his hair with one towel, the other wrapped taut around his hips, he walked over to the small square of mirror hanging on the wall -his shaving mirror.

He had always hated shaving, it made him feel dangerous. At any time he could shave a little too close and blood would bead and slide down his throat and run into the dip of his collarbone. It frightened him. When he was a few years younger he had had bad dreams about shaving, about cutting himself too deep and that the blood wouldn't stop -it never ever stopped. He would wake up in a cold sweat and panting heavily in a tangled heap of sheets and limbs.

There would be no reason for provoking these nightmares -they just happened.

He had written a small horror story about it too, he just hoped that none of the people who were attending the meeting would want to read it.

It made his skin crawl to think about it.

They would most likely think that he would have an emotional breakdown over an empty bottle or a turned over chair.

He sighed and looked over at his last clean outfit. He really ought to get in to the habit of washing his clothes more regularly. Not that he was an urchin, but since he had come to Paris he had barely had a few moments to himself, save for that specific morning and that was only to get ready for a last-minute meeting he could not avoid.

He sighed and slid into his pristine white shirt with the stiff collar, his Church-shirt as he had referred to it at home. He buttoned up the tiny pearly buttons down his chest, stepped into his black trousers and adjusted the braces over his shoulders. He felt too tense at that moment. He licked his lips as he adjusted the stiff collar around this throat, and slipped in to his polished black shoes and a light-weight black jacket. The sun was warmth and soothing as it soaked into the fabric.

He smiled and armed himself with his leather case under one arm.

He stepped out of his building and was bathed in the rich, golden sunlight that painted the small square a lavish honey colour. He looked up at the Moulin Rouge and felt his mouth smile.

He was ready.

~0~

"Father, we are only here to see how talented he is. There is no point hiring a bad writer to write an entire play. It would ruin us all"

Lucius swirled his brandy and did not look up at either his son or the sweating Arthur Weasley, both sitting on either side of him as he perched at the head of the table. He had not wanted to be here anymore than neccesary, but his son had managed to convince him, which was not an easy task to do. Lucius smirked, his son was almost ready to take over their business if he kept the good work up.

"He has a point, Duke" Arthur stated, wringing his nervous hands on the tabletop, "there would be no point to lose such a vast amount of money for something that we can easily avoid early on in the process"

Lucius hummed deep in his throat, "and any aspiring writer in Paris would not have done the job?" he drawled icily.

"He is British father" Draco stated, "he has quite literally only just arrived in Paris, as have we, and is it not better this way? There will be no abuse to the English Language"

Lucius watched his son with cool eyes, "you make a remarkable point, Draco"

Draco inclined his head, "thank you, Father. Now as I understand it we are all going to take some time to read what he had prepared for us, and then discuss the finer details of the idea that we have been pitched? Am I correct in my assumption?"

Lucius nodded, "naturally. You are gifted my boy. So any news on when this brat is actually going to arrive and grace us with his presence?"

"Father" Draco hissed.

Arthur checked the clock, "well he should be here round about now so I cannot imagine what is keeping-"

A knock came from the door. The doorhandle bent under an invisible weight and was pushed open to reveal a rather smartly dressed Harry, looking an array of awkward emotions. Draco thought he looked quite dapper, giving his living conditions. "Good morning -I hope I have not been keeping you waiting too long" Harry managed to say almost without drawing a single breath as he closed the door quietly behind him.

He was visibly nervous but at least he was trying to force a brave face upon his features. He swallowed nervously as he placed his worn leather case on the tabletop. Three pairs of eyes bore into his flesh, singing it, making it burn on the bone. As he swallowed thickly and tried to gather his thoughts he could not help but notice how near-identical Draco and his father were; they both had the same pale skin, ice-cold silver eyes and the sun-dyed platinum blond hair.

It was unnerving.

They were a sharp contrast to the sweating, redhead across the table from Draco at the very least.

"Well boy? What are you waiting for?" Lucius snapped, his voice hissing at the end of his sentence. Harry's heart jerked painfully in his chest as he dipped his hand into his case and drew out the wad of papers. A gold eyebrow rose. "Well? Hand them out, boy, we have not got all day to dwell on this"

"Y-yes of course sir, how rude of me" Harry rifled through his stories, seperating them with his fingers and handed out three small stories to each of his judges. He had given the most detailing gruesome ones to Lucius -he knew that he had to please this man. "These are a few of my better short stories ... they'll show you an example of the writing I am able to do. You can swap them also if you would like once you are through and-"

Lucius held up a lazy hand, silencing every heartbeat in the room. "I think you've said enough, Mister Potter. You may go now, we'll get back to you"

"Is there any possible time I should expect an answer, sir?" Harry braved, his eyes flickering for the briefest of seconds to Draco. He felt his heart droop in his chest to find the younger blond man reading through one of his stories already, an air of disinterest plastered upon his china-white skin.

Lucius' tight-lipped smile remained in place, "we'll let you know"

Sensing that he would not recieve any further information from anyone else in the room, he inclined his head stiffly to the Duke, and headed for the door, givign it a soft bang as he exited. All the way down the five flights of stairs his footsteps matched his erratic heart that thumped furiously within his ears.

The ringing of the ever-so-slight door banging still hung in the thick atmosphere of the small office. Draco looked up from the page he was half-way through reading, "that was uncalled for, Father, you have no right to treat people in that manner"

"Dear Draco has all that smoking damaged your brain? It was my understanding that I can do whatever I wish with these people" Lucius chided, "the boy needs to learn that in these businesses you cannot expect sunshine and flowers"

"So you are purposefully going to give him a hard time just to show that there is a darker side to Paris?" Draco hissed in disgust. He knew his father was cruel but to frighten off the only descent writer in their local area was a little rash in his minds eye.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at his son, "well if he is that good a writer then he will have nothing to fear, will he?"

Draco wanted to sneer over at his father, with his cigar smoke pluming in the air above him like a great grey feather -but he swallowed his tongue. It was his father's decision on the matter that would seal Harry's fate.

~0~

The sky was dark now.

It was crisp upon his skin despite the beauty the sun had offered earlier that day.

In his hand he clutched a worn, leather case packed tight with wads of papers.

Taking a deep breath, he gripped the leather handle tighter and began marching his way across the cobblestone square that seperated him from his goal.

~0~

Harry was busy dissecting what was left in his pantry -he really needed to go to the morning market the following day and stock-up supplies. He had refused to go anywhere near his type-writer that afternoon, not after what happened at his meeting with the Duke. He knew they would not just offer him the position, he was not that naive.

And yet he had allowed himself to hope.

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes as the sky darkened outside of his bedroom window. There was a chill in the air and prickled his skin but he refused to wrap anything about himself. He just wanted to wallow in his self-pity and anxiety. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the backrest of his chair and allowed his mind to wander off.

When the rapping of sharp knuckles on the brittle wood of his apartment door knocked him back to a rather frigid reality, the moon had arisen and the sky was a chiseled inky blue. He winced at the headache that sprung through his blurred vision and rubbed his hands over his icy forearms. He should not have left the windows open.

"One minute" he called out as he eased himself from his chair, the wood creaking with the shift in weight, his muscles were stiff from sleeping in such an awkward position. The cold had not helped either, he had to admit as he crossed the room, huddled against the cold, and reached up to pull the windows shut. It had a placebo effect on him, as soon as the glass pane was fastened against the wind, he thought the room felt warmer.

How strange.

He hobbled over to his apartment door on stiff, creaking knees. His throat was dry and his eyes felt hot and raw in their sockets. He glanced over at the small stove in the corner -he needed some matches before he could even dream about lighting it up. He sighed and reached the door, the brass knob sent icy cold eletric-shocks through his palm. He ground his teeth together, twist it and opened the door. The surprise on his face was evident as a tall and composed Draco Malfoy chuckled down at him lightly. "Did I interrupt you, Harry?" he asked with a small, warm smile on his mouth. Harry should his head, a shudder running through his already cool body. Draco's smile quickly fell from his face as he took in the haggard appearrance of his -aquaintence. He placed what he was carrying in his arms -a briefcase and a small basket -on Harry's bedside table before placing his palms around Harry's upper arms, his thumbs stroking the tan skin. "You're freezing" he stated in a calm voice, "you need to get warm"

Harry shrugged, "no matches for the fire" he murmured lamely, ducking out of Draco's touch.

Draco frowned again as he watched Harry collapse into a small wicker chair beside the icy looking black stove. A short, dumpy little thing but it would do the job required of it. He grew frustrated in a matter of moments as he shut Harry's door behind him and marched over to the smug stove, sitting there in all its chilled glory, taunting Harry as he froze. He wrenched opne the small grill door and shovelled what was left of the coal into it, a few minor lumps of dusty black, and then grabbed a few balled up pieces of paper and placed them in as well. From within his light travelling coat be pulled out a box of matches, lit three, and threw them inside. Within moments the stove was alight and breathing warmth into the apartment.

Draco smirked, satisfied with himself.

"You have coal dust on your hands" came Harry's emtoionless reply from the wicker chair.

Draco frowned and then glanced down at his hands, grimacing at the faint dark streaks marring his pale skin. He rubbed his hands on his coat, reminding himself he would need to have it washed. "Why were you sitting alone in the cold?" Draco asked, rounding on Harry with his hands on his hips, "you could have gotten ill"

Harry snorted and shift in the chair. The wicker creaked. "Like you would care"

Draco felt his frustration raising to anger, "well I do care about the health of our new writer"

Harry stared up at him in silence, blinking a few times before smiling wealky, "so your father came to a decision?"

"Yes" Draco nodded, his anger ebbing away slightly, "yes, he did"

"And you had no sway in your fathers decision whatsoever?"

"My father appreciated my decision for you to be our first choice -I did not sway him I merely gave my in-put where it was due" Harry smiled weakly once against, wriggling his toes as the warmth caressed him. Draco watched him with a weight in his chest, "you're cold" he stated again.

Harry nodded, "I know -thank you for the fire"

Draco inclined his head, "it was irking me, something had to be done about it. Besides, I brought you something for this evening"

Harry arched an eyebrow and curled his legs up underneath him, "may I see what it is?"

Draco shook his head, "not right now. First of all you need to get warm" before Harry could object, Draco disappearred from view and returned moments later with Harry's throw blankets. He bundled Harry in them and then went to pull the straight-backed desk chair over by the stove for himself. He did not sit down however.

Instead he went back to the door and grabbed the basket, leaving the briefcase where Harry could get to it in a hurry. He placed the contents of the basket on Harry's small table that was beside the stove. Harry felt his stomach rumble painfully at the cut of lamb drawn out into the dim light. It looked delicious. He watched as Draco cooked the meat with utensils Harry had not even touched yet. He saved a small part of the lam and whilst the food was cooking, placed the paper packet in the pantry. He then diced a variety of cheese and fruit and vegetables, cooking the vegetables and giving Harry some of the cheese and thick, crusty bread to eat.

"I didn't think you would be able to cook" Harry mused as he gnawed on a cut of bread,

Draco arched a sleek eyebrow as he refilled their wine-glasses. "Whyever not?"

"You're rich. I had assumed rich people did not need to learn mediocre skills"

"That is true I suppose. However when I was young I would get bored and wonder into the kitchens. Once the servants were used to me they let me help them baking and then more serious meals. I was fifteen when my father finally found out and punished me"

"And you never forgot?"

"No" Draco admitted, glancing down into his drink, "I don't want to forget either. Those were some of the happiest days of my childhood, in that kitchen" Harry did not respond for a little while. "Why weren't you excited? Before when I told you you had the job?"

Harry merely shrugged, "I was too cold to be happy, I guess"

Draco nodded, "and now?"

Another shrug. "Right now all I can think of is how amazing that food smells right now"

Draco chuckled lightly, the sound caressing Harry's ears as the food was separated between the two of them. Draco raised his glass in a toast, "to your new job"

"To my new job" Harry echoed with a smile, his unwavering eyes holding Draco's own as they sipped from their cups.

* * *

**A/N: I hope it was worth the wait -review if you like it!**


	7. Infatuation

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the oppurutnity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesean and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influental heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognisable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge  
**

**Infatuation**

Arthur Weasley was in paradise. The Duke had loaned him enough money to convert the Moulin Rouge into a theater. The women were stationed in creating the most vividly bright costumes that he had ever seen. There was gold and fuchsia and cyan fabric dripping all over the place along with numerous gems and head-dresses. He had called a meeting for nine o'clock that morning and he was making his way towards the stage that was being formed. The red velvet curtains were at least four centimeters thick and had heavy gold fringes trimming the end. There was also heavy gold framing hanging in the center overhead the stage. It all gleamed with superiority.

It all gleamed like Lucius Malfoy.

He clapped his hands together and walked onto the sleek, brightly varnished floorboards of the stage and beamed even wider as he saw the new cast and crew seated on bland, straight-backed chairs that looked as though they were barely able to support some of the women's heavily skirted dresses. "Good morning everyone!" he felt his heart rate accelerate as he listened to his own voice echo from all four corners of the room. "We will have created the world's first completely modern ...entirely electric, totally bohemian, all-singing, all-dancing stage spectacular!"

Ginevra looked over at Harry, noticing how relaxed the young man seemed compared to when she had first encountered him. He was seated in between the Duke and his son. Both Malfoy's were sitting straight-backed with their bright blond hair styled carefully. They made little Harry stand out dramatically with his lengthening, dark hair, wide interested eyes and open expression -not compared to the pale and disdainful expression of both Malfoy's. As Arthur mumbled on about a few more things that were barely important, Harry's bright green eyes wondered slightly. He caught the flirtatious redhead smiling at him and he felt the corners of his mouth pull up into a small, shy smile.

She was fascinated by the unhealthy flush creeping up his neck. Harry sniffed and looked away as a pale hand reached over and curled around his forearm. Both green and brown eyes came to look at Draco Malfoy who was staring straight ahead at Arthur Weasley's balding head bobbing around under the bright lights that had been installed. Ginevra frowned at the hand on Harry's forearm but the brunette was too busy listening to whatever the blond heir murmured into the shell of his ear. She watched as Harry's face broke into a barely suppressed grin, his eyes darting for confirmation of whatever Draco had told him about her father prancing around on the stage.

Half-way through Arthur's ever lengthening speech, a huge boulder-shaped weight crashed through the wall behind him, as he stood near the small area which was to be used to extend the over-head box seats. People were jumping from their chairs and stepping as far away as possible. A few even ran around towards the stage to help Arthur dust himself down from the plaster dust that had descended into the air.

Ginevra who had raised and scurried away from her her own chair, despite the dust cloud reaching nowhere near her chair. Her erratic breathing soon felt dull in her chest as she glanced over, a few loose red curls drifting in front of her brown eyes, to see that both the Malfoy heir and Harry were both on their feet and standing before one of the thick pillars running along the very edge of the building, alongside a few other startled can-can dancers. Draco and Harry's hands were clutching one another's forearms, their bodies barely centimeters apart as they looked on with wide, frightened eyes at the white dust that began to settle on the marble tiled floors and a quarter of the new stage.

She frowned at them for a moment longer and was a little perturbed by how comfortable Harry seemed to be, being clutched onto by the Malfoy heir.

She turned her eyes back to the stage, the plaster dust sticking to a few of her eyelashes.

Arthur appeared through the cloud with a gaping hole in his mouth shaped into a ridiculous grin, "The show must go on!"

_Yes, the show would go on. But Draco cancelled his dinner plans with Ginevra that same night and the following night._

Draco was enjoying letting himself go as he settled into Harry's bohemian abode for the third night in a row. He enjoyed walking in through the rough wooden door, and unbuttoning his over-coat, waistcoat and unchaining his pocket-watch from his pockets. Colin came from upstairs with fresh food and wine, and helped out with preparing food whilst Harry raved about the latest scene he had written, or dramatized the emotions for the characters. Draco laughed full-heartily as he clapped his hands in mirth and reclined in the wicker chair, propping his unbooted foot upon the writing desk. Colin was giggling about how wonderful the current scene was being acted out, as Harry danced around along the slim balcony outside, which was really just the floor lengthened out too long when the building was being made.

The thin white net curtains flapped around as Harry reemerged with some bright scrapped left-over fabric that he had collected when he had gone back-stage to confirm some of the specifics for the costumes. The colours clashed but Draco was having too much fun listening to Harry's antics that he could hardly care about the offensive multicoloured raincoat.

"You have betrayed me!" Harry's childishly angry face appeared with as he flared his arms out dramatically, his cute nose wrinkled up. !Mad with jealousy, the evil maharajah forces the courtesan to make the penniless sitar player believe she doesn't love him!"

"Oh, yes! Of course!" Colin squealed as he speared some meat onto a thin wooden skewer.

Harry flared his hands out, "'Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love,' says the penniless sitar player, throwing money at her feet and leaving the kingdom forever!" he turned and leaped out of the open window.

Draco was out of his chair and at the window in the blink of an eye, "No! No you imbecile!"

"No!" Colin squeaked out at the same time, hands flying up to cover up his mouth in fear.

A bright cackling sound was heard from the other window. Both men turned to see Harry peering in through the other window and his cheeks were flushed with excitement. Draco relaxed his muscles, relief washing through him. He briskly strode over to the other window, grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him inside, both grinning like delusional idiots.

"Oh, brilliant! Brilliant!" Colin chimed out as he went back to dicing up the fruit.

Draco turned back to Harry and grabbed him around the waist and waltzed him haphazardly over the bare floorboards, "Oh, my dear deluded little writer, I am enamored by your portrayal of a life without love," he pulled Harry flush against him, the heat of the room seeping into his blood stream and making his eyes droop with a lustful air, "it truly is terrible"

Harry swallowed thickly as the burning mercury of Draco's eyes hypnotized him and rendered him unable to look away. His head was suddenly light and filled with a rose-tinted glow, "yes," he breathed in a hushed voice as Draco skin suddenly felt all too real through their sleeves, "b-b-but the sitar player..."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Colin waved a handful of skewers and tried to beckon both men over to the food he had prepared.

"... With the magical sitar-" Harry was suddenly cut off by not only Colin, but Draco's hands squeezing tightly onto his own.

"That's my part, Harry! Th-That's my part! That's my part, Harry! Don't you dare recite my lines!"

Draco chuckled, the low rumbling sound sent a strange shiver running through Harry's body. It settled sweetly in his stomach. He unwound his hands from Draco's own so as to grab a skewer from where it rested just inside his little black stove and ripped of a chunk of meat like a ravenous animal. He directed his skewer at Colin all the while speaking to Draco and not caring if the blond saw the food in his mouth. "His magic sitar, who can only speak the truth, says- he says-"

_'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return'_

Everyone's schedules were growing more and more hectic as the date of the opening night drew ever nearer. Harry was making everyone reserve three-fold so as to be prepared for any scenario that should occur. He was thankful that he had The Duke and Arthur to back him up on the idea, all of them knowing that they could not afford for anything to wrong.

Everything had to be PERFECT.

He was, though, perturbed by how often Ginevra favored to rehearse her lines with him. She was either not-too-bright or was dropped on her head as a child, because made bubbly exclamations that she forgot her next line, and when asked to start from the top, she would gush and ask to be directed to whatever page they were rehearsing from. He had even gone so far as to beg for Draco to accompany along to any rehearsals between the both of them.

Ginevra did not like this idea. She did not make it apparent however, as she found the challenge rather interesting. She was unsure as to which of the two men she was more enamored with, and praised the challenge sent to her by the Universe to throw them all into the same room as one another. She loved the idea of being with Draco; not only was he rich and powerful and he was so patient when being in the same room and an immature young man such as Harry.

However, Harry had a sort of -shy charm about him.

On one of these three-way rehearsals Duke Lucius Malfoy appeared half-way through with a cold look in his eyes and a tight-lipped smirk upon his mouth. "Good morning, Miss Weasley, Draco," he turned his slicked head over to face Harry who was seated a little ways away from the other two, "-and young Mister Potter. Good. Good." He strode into the room, cane grasped within his right hand as he stood in front of the door.

Draco cocked a sleek blond eyebrow and stood up, straight-backed and composed. "What brings you here today, father?"

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany myself and young Ginevra on a little picnic on the beach? You can tell me all about what you have been doing in concern to the productions preparations"

"Oh, well, I don't see why that should be a problem. We were practically finished rehearsing this scene, weren't we, Harry?" Draco directed everyone's attention to the young brunette perched in the upright chair looking intensely uncomfortable of the situation.

"Oh um -yes of course," the brunette made no contact with anyone as he re-shuffled the pages he had written the night before with Draco's help. He did not know how to write dark, threatening emotions - he had been too happy at the time to write such things. Draco had managed to help, despite him getting a little intoxicated by Colin's home-made wine. It was a wonder the blond man had shown up to the rehearsal prompt -a few minutes prior to Harry -and without any lingering effects. Harry stood from his chair, the pile of papers clutched to his chest. "Well I trust that you will have a pleasant afternoon -the finale is still uneasy, sir" he stated a little rushed as he came face-to-face with The Duke's cool gaze.

"Well see to it that it is finished soon, Mister Potter"

"I can give you the first draft for a preview, sir, to see what you think about it?"

"Well Father, perhaps Harry could accompany us as well. Above all of us he deserves a day off and this way he can pitch you his idea for the finale, this way it'll be a whole lot easier for him to write when everything is decided beforehand"

"Oh no, Draco we do not need to do that! I am sure that Harry is far too busy to take a day off" Ginevra stated with a heavy pout to her lips. Draco grimaced and spared a glance to Harry who was hovering beside the door. His green eyes were bright with an array of conflicting emotions.

"Don't be ridiculous" Lucius snarled, sending a chill down everyone's spine but his own, "if the young writer can carry a blanket and basket, I don't see why he cannot accompany us for the afternoon. It is a marvelous idea, son," Lucius concluded as he walked back over to the open door and placed a stiff hand on Harry's tense shoulder.

Harry looked up into the cool grey eyes and was momentarily surprised, "oh um ... thank you, Sir but you honestly do not need to have your afternoon taken up by my prattling. I will have a copy of the finale written by tomorrow morning. Enjoy your afternoon" he inclined his head and then manouvred around Lucius to reach the door. In one swift motion he was gone.

Every occupant in the room seemed to be holding their breath, awaiting Lucius' reaction.

There was none.

He merely turned to face Ginevra and Draco with the same expression that he entered with. "Well?" he sniped, "what are you two staring at? If we wish to make it to the coast we shall have to leave right this moment!" he turned on his heel and flounced from the room, his black cloak billowing behind him.

~0~

Harry made it through the next few days by ensuring that he helped Colin with his lines. The small blond man struggled greatly with the forthcoming pressure of all those eyes upon him. Harry had tried to calm him down by saying that if Colin could recite, by heart, to him alone, then that was all that mattered. He promised the smaller man that he would be ready for the opening night, but said blond was unconvinced. "Okay let's take it from the top, Colin. So the magical sitar player falls from the roof-"

"Yes, I know. Don't tell me. The greatest thing you'll ever -wait I know this I know this!"

"I won't rush you Colin -in your own time, alright?" Harry coaxed lightly, pouring them both some ale.

"Um ... yes... Master... make.. contract" the young blond recited under his breath as he struggled to remember the black-and-white print.

Harry watched from his chair, his chin resting lightly on his fist as he reclined against his desk, feet propped up on the window sill as he watched Colin pace before his small, bulbous shaped stove. He felt a bitter seed shimmer and quake within his heart, daring to grow roots and bury them within his heart. He did not know where it had sprung from, but it had nestled within him ever since a few days prior, when he had excused himself from the Moulin Rouge and refused to show his face there. He had no desire to return there. Not yet. He was not ready to bask under the icy glow of Lucius Malfoy's gaze.

He shivered at the thought of those two cold orbs.

"H-Harry?"

He started slightly out of his reverie, his eyelids suddenly heavy, as he shook his head and blinked at the bright daylight pouring in through the window.

"Yes Colin?" he rasped.

"Can we finish the rehearsals? I need to head on over to see Flitwick about the music"

Harry nodded weakly, "yeah that's fine. I don't think I can focus too well anyways at the moment" He watched as Colin smiled gratefully at him, placed the script carefully on the bedside table, before scurrying quickly out of the door. Harry sighed and ran his hands down his face as he stared down at his type-writer, the single sentence he had managed to type didn't make sense. He snatched the paper from the type-writer, balled it up and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder.

He remained in that chair for the majority of that afternoon, only getting up to use the bathroom and swiping up some bread, cheese and cold meat for a thick sandwich, before returning to the chair and easing himself into the familiar support. It was comforting but not as enticing as his bed was. The sheets were most likely cooled by the early morning air of that day. He sighed and dragged himself up from the chair and slipped over to the bed. In slow movements he unbuttoned his shirt and allowed it to slip off of his soft skin and pool around his bare feet. He pulled the elasticated braces away from his shoulders, and watched as his trousers dropped to around his ankles also.

The cooling air of the on-coming evening swept over his bare skin, stroking against him like watered-silk. He sighed beautifully and pulled away the cold cotton sheets and slid in between them, laying on his stomach so that he could cuddle the pillow beneath his head and relax his troubled mind and muscles. He let out a small moan as he closed his eyes and snuggled his cheek against the cold pillow, his mind drifting ...

"What do you mean he is not here?!" Draco demanded of Dumbledore rather heatedly as they rehearsed a scene that evening right before dinner was due to be served. "He needs to be here otherwise no one will know if what they are doing is right!" he seethed.

"Well ... I -you see Colin came in this afternoon to help me with the music, but Harry was not with him. He did mention how the young boy looked rather somber"

"Draco, dear" Ginevra purred silkily as she shuffled over to stand beside him, her corset riding rather low on her waxy bosoms, "I can see that this scene is not quite finished yet. The, um, "Will the Lover Be Meeting at the Sitar Player's Humble Abode" scene. And I wondered if I could work on it with you later tonight? That way we can create our own little finale for that scene and present it to Harry"

Draco turned to her, clenching his fists and his anger fuming until he swore he could see steam billowing from his pursed lips. "Do I look like I have anything to do with this play? All I want to do is ensure that my investment does not go to waist on you damned can-can dancers! You want to be an actress? Bloody do something about it for yourself!" without another word to either of them, he turned from the hall and strode out into the chilled evening air.

"Did you hear how he just spoke to me?" Ginevra asked Flitwick as soon as the blond man was out of earshot. Flitwick nodded, a little weary as to how this young woman would take to being spoken in such a manner. "I quite liked it," she gushed lightly, fanning her exposed chest with the script she had yet to read.

Meanwhile, Draco was stalking along the cobblestone roads, winding in and out of shadowed buildings until he reached a rather familiar apartment block. He looked up at it and took a few deep, heavy breaths before mounting the narrow staircase, two steps at a time as he did so. As soon as he got to the door he hesitated, whilst leaning on the door frame, before knocking on the battered wood.

There was no answer from the other side.

He frowned at this and knocked a second time, a little hard. When he still received no answer, he tried the door-handle and felt his heart drop as the door swung inwards at the slightest touch. It was most unsafe. Poking his head around the door frame he peered into Harry's flat; the only light came from a few stubby candles that were propped on the writing desk. He looked around until his eyes fell upon the bed and felt relief puncture his heart.

Closing the door behind him, he unbuttoned his restrictive waistcoat and pocket watch before walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge of the mattress, feeling it sink under his weight as he did so. He inhaled deeply, as he reached out and rested a hand on Harry's bare shoulder. The skin was chilled to the touch and yet, he found it oddly refreshing. He pressed his hand to Harry's forehead -despite the awkward angle -and frowned at the weak heat that rewarded his efforts.

He tried shaking the man lightly, "Harry? Harry, it's Draco. You need to wake up."

At first, he thought that these efforts, too, had been in vain. However he heard a soft rustling, a groan and then felt the sheets pulled taut beneath him as Harry turned onto his back so as to face him through two bleary eyes. "Draco?" he breathed, "wh-wha-? What are you doing here? What time is it? Have I missed the rehearsal?"

"I came to see what had happened to you, it's roughly eight o'clock in the evening, and yes you did miss rehearsals" Draco stated softly, as his fingers itched to brush away the damp fringe clinging to Harry's forehead. "Harry, you feel a little hot. Are you feeling alright?"

Harry shrugged, having not given it much thought. "I just felt a little down this evening that's all. Maybe I got ill while I was sleeping"

Draco gave a weak smile and smoothed his cool hand down Harry's flustered cheek. "Let me bring the throw-blanket over from by the stove, it should be plenty warm now" Harry smiled and watched through blurred vision as the blond man strode over to the stove, his step fairly light, and then returned with a well-heated, soothing blanket that dispelled all chill from his skin. Draco did a good job of tucking Harry into the soft cocoon before returning to gather some longer candles from the little kitchen area that Colin had tidied up the day prior.

Returning to the bed he positioned a cluster of candles on the bedside table and along the rough border lining over the headrest. It was about three inches thick, wide enough to balance a few of the thinner candles on, so that the healthy golden glow danced over the contours of Harry's sleepy features. Draco smiled softly, "better?"

Harry nodded, "much" Draco was about to stand up but a hand tugged on his loosened sleeve. "Don't leave"

"I'm not" the blond soothed in a slightly clipped tone, "I was going to get the chair so that I could sit down and read the latest thing you've written up for the performance"

Harry groaned, his hands coming up to shield his face, "I have not written a word since two nights ago"

Draco's jaw went slightly slack, "you haven't -but Harry! Opening night is only two months away! What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, alright?!" Harry half-shouted, his raw eyes feeling hot and tired. A headache was beginning to throb its way into existence. He sighed and collapsed back onto his pillows, an arm slung over his eyes.

Draco watched as Harry's breathing slowed down a little, calming a little with each passing moment. He breathed in deeply and crawled up onto the mattress on his knees, something he had not done unless he was alone in his own bedroom. He sat at the head of the bed, Harry's hand bending against his thigh. "Harry?" he tried softly, the warmth of the candles smoothing over on his features.

"Yes Draco?"

"If you want I can help you with the writing if you're having some trouble"

"I could not ask you to do that Draco. You have enough on your plate as it is. Plus Ginevra is asking more of your attention with each passing day"

Draco snorted to himself a little childishly. Harry sneaked a small look at his companion and smiled softly, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his elbow. Draco looked down at him and smiled, stroking his index finger down the younger mans' nose. Harry watched, cross-eyed, as the finger drifted over the tip of his nose and down to his lips. He parted his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the blond mans index finger, his stomach and mind a whirling knot of frenzied emotions.

Draco swallowed thickly, feeling each muscle of his body stiffen. He was suddenly all too aware of how slim-toned and perfectly sculptured the young boys body was, under the thin sheet and warm blanket, his skin glowing golden under the light of the candles. He felt something within him unfurl, like a sleeping beast awakening.

He inhaled sharply.

Harry's eyes watched him, unwavering, before darting away, his head turning to stare down at the pillow beneath his bent elbows. He inhaled a shaking breath, "I would appreciate it if you leave" he stated in a clipped tone, his voice harsh and brittle, hanging in the air.

Draco was unable to find the words to reply. None of this was right. He made a hasty retreat from the bed -apartment -building, his tight waistcoat cutting off the circulation to his arms and legs -at least that is how he was feeling as he wandered back to his own abode in the Gothic tower. He was glad for the private bedchamber he had there; it was cool and dark, and had the ever-glowing hue of the inky-blue night sky.

Once in his bedchamber, hair disheveled and sweat staining his forehead and cheeks. He felt over-whelming heat running through his veins. His hands darted up and clutched within the sweaty tangle of his bright blond hair, his skin glowing blue in the moonlight that drifted in through the window in diamond shaped slits. He glanced towards his four-poster bed, the deep velvet coverlet was pulled taut of the crisp sheets and pillows. More throw pillows in velvet and lace pillowcases were positioned theatrically at the head of the bed.

He tried to calm down, rationalizing that he could sleep this all away like a bad dream, and awake the next morning as though nothing had happened. He ran his fingertips over the soft velvet and could not help but think about how much softer the throw-blanket upon Harry's bed felt -dipping and clinging to the gentle curves of the golden-skinned boys' naked body-

"Blasphemous!" he practically screamed, sweat exploding once again onto his chilled skin, as he clawed at his hair and tight clothes.

Not only was he suddenly feeling restless but he was so conflicted about everything that was going on around him that he just wanted to hide away in his chamber for the foreseeable future and not return to the blasted performance until the opening night. That way he could watch the performance, and return home to England and never look back.

He would leave everything behind; The Moulin Rouge, the growing need to sin -and Harry.

* * *

**A/N: I am so sorry for the prolonged update. I did not realise how long it had been until I double-checked. I apologise for any spelling mistakes.**


	8. Torture

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the oppurutnity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesean and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influental heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognisable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge  
**

**Torture**

The night had been restless and awful. Everything ached from where he had tossed and turned amongst the Egyptian cotton sheets. The velvet throw blanket had been kicked off to the floor in a trembling fit of his hot flesh. Nothing had satisfied him since collapsing into his bed, praying for all that was Holy that he could repent before being condemned.

He had awoken at irregular intervals throughout the night, and dawn, shooting up into a sitting position, back drenched with sweat that instantly grew cold as the chilled evening wind bit at his flesh. His heart had raced into his throat and his fists had somehow ended up being clenched into the tangled, sweat-pressed sheets entangling his hot, tremoring body.

And every time he closed his eyes he saw Harry's feverish body curled beneath those soft bed sheets, green eyes dancing with the flickering candle flames.

Each time this happened, he clenched his fingers around his tight blond tresses and tugged and tugged until a searing headache pierced it's way through -as clear and unwelcome as the first rays of sunshine.

He didn't -couldn't -think of Harry in that way. It was filthy and evil and ... sinful.

He did not know what to do. There was no one that he could turn to and even if there was, what on earth could he say? 'Hi my name is Draco Malfoy, sole air to the Malfoy fortune and I'm ... having romantic feelings for a young man who is JUST under ten years younger than myself!' -NO! He was in over his head, and he knew it.

For the eighth time that morning he awoke in his own cold sweat and this time, he could not even think about sleeping any longer. He ran his hands through his damp hair and drew his knees up to his chin, and sighed between his knees. Dawn had started to peek its bright head through the gothic window. The curtains blocked the worst of it from his room. His hold body felt slick with his own slimy, greasy sweat.

He sighed to himself and decided that perhaps a rinse down with cold water would sort him out. He needed to be presentable for breakfast and for the remainder of the day when he was to over-look the afternoon rehearsals. He needed a clear head when facing Harry.

That was what it was really about, after-all.

He all but yelped inwardly as his bare feet came into contact with the frosted flagstones underfoot.

The bathroom was basic, with all the amenities embedded into the cold, dark stone of the Gothic Tower. The china, claw-footed bathtub sat off to one side. It looked like a huge basin chiselled out of white ice. It was cold to the touch as he ran his fingers over the rim. He flinched in his own skin as he finally noticed one of the servants perched just off to one side by the sink embedded into the small, stone alcove. He swallowed thickly, "I -I did not see you there"

The servant, who rather large ears stuck out from either side, inclined his head with a taut smile. "It is alright, Master Malfoy. I can fix you a bath if you wish. Then you can go and join your father in the dining room for breakfast"

Draco's head jerked back towards the servant, from where he had been examining his red-eyed reflection in the mirror. "My father is not awake yet, is he?"

The servant shook his head, "no, sir, not yet. I doubt he will wake up for about another hour or so"

Draco drew in a shaky breath and felt a small cough tickle his throat. He should really stop sneaking cigarettes. They clearly were not doing him a heap-load of good. He rubbed a hand over his chest to ease the tickle. "I would like a bath, yes. If you please, I wish it to be fairly cold"

The servant frowned, "are you not feeling well, sir?"

Draco shook his head quickly, "no ... no I feel as though I have sinned against nature"

The servant opened his mouth as though to say something, before snapping it shut again and nodding his head a fraction. "Very good, sir"

Draco watched with wary eyes as the servant went about preparing a cold bath, Draco turned back to the mirror and peered closer at his reflection staring back at him from within the ornate, black iron frame. His eyes were red-rimmed, black circles underneath his eyes and his hair matted and tangled about in a frantic mass upon his head, in sweat. He sighed to himself, and closed his eyes tightly -bowing his head in case he felt the urge to throw-up ... at least he had the sink beneath him.

He licked his lips and sighed shakily, clenching the rim of the sink with his white, quivering hands.

The gurgle and sloshing of the water hitting the china bathtub echoed tauntingly in the stone room. There were no windows -just a small electric light hanging in the top of the ceiling and a few thick candles were perched in sweating sconces dotted around the room. The flickering light danced over his waxy features -he felt awful.

_Why wasn't the bath ready yet?!_

"Sir? Sir? Sir can you hear me? Your bath is ready ... sir?"

Draco's eyes snapped open. He watched a bead of sweat roll of the tip of his pointed nose and descend into the sink. He exhaled slowly and tried to force his muscles to relax. He straightened up and ran both of his hands over his face and then through his thick, sweating hair. He turned back to the servant, "you may leave now" he stated tonelessly.

"Would you like me to fetch some towels for you, sir?"

Draco thought for a moment and then nodded, "go and fetch them now. Might as well have everything set-up before I get in"

The servant nodded, turned and hurried slightly from the room, clearly wanting to get away from the strained situation as soon as physically possible. Draco did not blame him. His sweat probably reeked of original sin. He could smell it himself. It was rancid. It burn down his throat and made his gag and dry-heave heavily over the side of the bath, despite nothing coming out. He shuddered violently, feeling sickly and cold and gazing down into the cold bath -did he want a cold one? Maybe he should demand a hot one when the servant returned ... a hot one to boil the filthy thoughts from his mind.

He closed his eyes and sighed -his breath instantly hitching as he saw Harry's emerald green eyes glittering with the candle flames, behind his eyelids. He shivered. He ran a hand down his face, "what is wrong with me?" he whispered, his voice hissing out as it echoed against the harsh stone walls.

"Your towels, sir"

Draco swallowed down the yelp that had threatened to escape. He turned from the now full bath and accepted the towels, eyeing the servant until he started slightly and departed the room. Draco was left to his own devices at last. He placed the thick, white towels by the side of the bath and marched across the cold flagstone floor. His white fingers grasped the heavy black key in the door lock and turned.

It clicked.

He was safe at last.

A weight seemed to expel itself from his shoulders as he removed his soaked nightshirt and tossed it carelessly to one side. It needed a wash -he refused to wear or sleep in his own sweat-soaked attire. The chill morning air made his skin break out in goosepimples. He allowed a small shiver to course down his body. He grit his teeth together and stepped into the bath, dunking his body into the cool water before he had a second chance to rethink himself.

To his surprise he found the water surprisingly refreshing, not too cold but not a neutral temperature either. It appeared to be just below tepid -at least it was in his own mind. He ran his hands over his naked, wet body, the water making him feel weightless and care-free. He drew his knees up, and out of the water, before allowing his back to slide down the curved side of the bath and submerge his head in cool water.

All of a sudden his head felt clearer.

Harry had been feverish and had misplaced his minute affection in the haze of the oppressive heat and fever he had obtained over the course of the previous day. That had to be it. And judging by the reaction of the younger man, he was just as repulsed by his own actions as Draco had been. It was nothing to worry about. So then why was he worrying? And why did it hurt like a stone to his stomach that Harry felt repulsed towards him? Perhaps he was over-thinking everything; it could have just been deluded.

He sighed, his breath forming a bubble that exploded under the surface of the water.

It could just be the strain of the whole affair, Harry himself had said that it was his first job writing a complete play, and for someone so young to work for someone as cold and dangerous as Lucius Malfoy, how could one not wish grow deluded, especially in the throws of a Summer cold. All of a sudden all of the pieces seemed to fit into place in this sordid puzzle he had created for himself.

He pushed his feet against the base of the bath and slid his head back into the open air, inhaling a good few wet breaths through his nose. He raked his fingers through his soaked blond hair, scraping blond strands out of his grey eyes. He was beginning to feel better. His chest even felt a little lighter knowing that he had solved his own harassing problem before going to dine with his father for breakfast. His father could read him like a book at this time of the morning and it irked him.

He grabbed the small, scented soap that rested on a small stone shelf chiselled into the wall over the bath and began scrubbing his skin heavily with the slippery soap-cake, ridding his skin of any sweaty evidence from his troublesome night.

He did not need his father's ridicule -not this morning.

~0~

The dining hall of the Gothic Tower was decorated in much the same fashion as the rest of the palace; dark stone with heavy, ornate iron sconces and mirrors hanging in alcoves. Candelabras were dotted around the perimeter of the room but none were lit as the sunlight splashed into the room through each of the long windows, painting the twinkling china and crystal with shards of golden light.

Lucius Malfoy sat at the head of the table, the majority of the breakfast spread out before him. Upon entering the room, Draco felt his father's gaze stray from the morning paper to his son. "Ah, I see that you have graced me with your presence. Do sit down" he indicated to the chair on his right and waited for his son to sit down before a thin smile crawled onto his mouth. "How did you sleep?"

"Rather fitfully," Draco stated matter-of-factly as he reached for the tall China tea-pot and poured himself a large cup of tea. He fixed it the way he liked it but as soon as it touched his tongue he winced slightly at the bitter taste. He was not too fond of the tea today. It was vile. He missed the rich, black coffee that he was growing used to staying up the long nights with Harry. The coffee was rich and delicious and danced on his taste buds. The tea was flat, and bitter and sticky at the back of his throat.

Lucius folded his copy of the morning paper and laid it down to one side. "Draco, I cannot help but notice that you have declined the invitation I sent for you to dine with Miss. Weasley the past few days"

"I wanted to make sure that my future did not go to the dogs. This show is interesting and I had wanted to see how everything is operated. I would have thought that is what you wished of me; to get better acquainted with my future in this trade"

"Of course it is. However, you are taking the long way about it. I have explained to you how wooing Miss. Weasley will benefit your future"

"I am sorry father but she is far too immature for me to deal with; permanently or temporary. I do not know if I can do that"

Lucius gave him a cold look, his eyes boring into his sons. He inwardly sneered at himself for being stuck with such a soft boy._Damn you Narcissa_, he inwardly cursed. _Why did you coddle the boy past the age of three?_ "Draco this is not up for discussion. Your only task is to woo Ginevra Weasley. Do I make myself clear?" he hissed venomously.

Draco clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together, "and what do you expect me to do?"

"Woo her. She is a harlot, it should be the easiest thing you ever do in your entire life"

"But she's so immature!" Draco snarled, clenching his fingers into tight fists out of sight under the table.

"What of it? Do you think that your mother was the walking Duchess when I first met her? Of course not. She needed discipline and to be controlled and punished for when she acted out of sorts. You have to take the same approach with Miss. Weasley. Mould her to suit your tastes!"

"She is not a piece of clay, father" Draco stated harshly.

"She may as well be, she's not fit for anything else! Now you do as I say or you can pack your bags back to a lousy flat in Old London Town"

Draco blinked in surprise. "You would disown me for not wooing that woman?" he asked in a calm tone, despite the fact that his insides were shaking with a suppressed rage. His father had no right to command such a thing of him. He was old enough to do as he pleased.

Lucius inclined his head, "yes, Draco, I would disown you"

And he had said it. Just like that. Almost as though he had already accustomed himself to not having a son. Draco looked down at his plate that had some toast and cold cuts of meat. He suddenly had no appetite. However, he was feeling a distressing urge to get out of the tower and run as far away from the Moulin Rouge -if only for a little while. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood from the table. "I shall see you this evening father, at the rehearsal"

Without another word, he was gone.

~0~

"Thanks Blaise, I really appreciate this," Harry stated as he showed Blaise to the door of his apartment. Blaise grinned his slow sexy grin, as he turned in the doorway.

"It's a pleasure Harry. Dancing the tango is one of my specialties -teaching it should be no trouble for me. It's up for them to learn it"

Harry chuckled to himself, "either way I still appreciate you doing this for me. I don't even know how to dance myself"

Blaise shrugged a shoulder his grin still easy and care-free. "Come by in about an hour or so, hopefully they will have picked up a few of the basic steps by then"

Harry snorted weakly, "yeah alright, good luck with that"

Blaise grinned and ran a hand down the small goatee he had begun to grow. It really suited him. "Now how many variations of dance do you-?"

"KID!"

Both men looked to one side to see a rather flustered Draco panting. Sweat shined lightly on his pointed nose and high cheekbones. Blaise only seemed to grin more, ignoring the stiffness of Harry's muscles. The dark-skinned man clapped a hand on Draco's arm, not giving a toss if the blond man was higher up on the social ladder than himself. "Hello Rich-Boy what plans have you got for today?"

Draco looked from Harry's eyes that were avoiding him to Blaise who was grinning like he had inhaled far too many illegal drugs. "I -have to help out with some of the rehearsals this afternoon-"

"Excellent!" Blaise cut across him beaming as though Draco were the Sun itself, "you can come along to the dance rehearsal this afternoon. Lord, knows we need plenty of men, there just are not enough for all those damned women!"

Draco felt his eyes widen. He had wanted to get away from the Moulin Rouge not get thrown right into the middle of the writhing snake-pit that it was. "Well actually I was going to-"

"No, I insist. You must come and see me attempt to teach those brain-dead women how to put one foot in front of the other let alone do the Tango," Blaise snickered.

Draco licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair, making him look a little more Bohemian than he usually did. "Of course ... I suppose it won't hurt to over-see a few things"

"Over-see it?" Harry snorted in a little distasteful manner, causing Blaise's grin to widen and Draco to frown in confusion. "You'll be in it," with a grim expression, Harry turned to walk further into his apartment leaving Blaise to pat Draco casually on the arm and stride down the hallway to the narrow staircase. That left Draco, sweating profusely, and breathing deeply in the doorway. He did not know if he was allowed to enter the small apartment or not. Harry came back, swigging from a small cup. He grimaced in Draco's direction, "don't stand there on ceremony. You may as well come in unless you get the neighbors suspicious"

"Why would the neighbors be suspicious?" Draco asked cautiously as he edged into the room, and closed the door behind him.

Harry shrugged as he slumped into the chair as his writing desk, "don't know really, neighbours always tend to be suspicious about their other neighbours"

Draco watched as the dark-haired young man leaned over his type-writer and then started clacking away on the huge, silver-coloured keys, ignoring Draco's presence behind him. The blond man felt inadequate as he stood just inside the worn door. "Harry-"

"You don't have to go to the rehearsals, you know. That was just Blaise's way of inviting you along to see what he is good at. And he is a great dancer -not that I know anything about dancing itself"

"Harry we need to-"

"And of course Miss. Weasley would want nothing more than to rehearse all her lines with you. You would not believe how often she's come to me asking me to rewrite her lines and not use such big words" he snorted to himself as he clacked away.

"Harry can I just-"

"I have no idea how I thought she was even remotely worth-"

"HARRY POTTER YOU LISTEN TO ME RIGHT THIS MINUTE OR I SWEAR TO GOD THAT I WILL SHOVE THAT BLOODY TYPE-WRITER RIGHT DOWN THAT FRUSTRATING LITTLE THROAT OF YOURS!"

Harry had turned in his chair mid-rant, his eyes wide and a little afraid. He clearly didn't like fighting or shouting of any kind. He looked flustered but was refusing to say anything. Smart lad. His knuckles that were on the back of the chair, were white and shaking. His bright green eyes were watering slightly but Draco was shaking with the suppressed anger he had built up since leaving his father at the breakfast table. He was standing with red cheeks and his fists clenched into tight, white fists.

Harry swallowed thickly. "I ... I-I'm sorry ..."

"SORRY?!" Draco sneered, "Oh, you're SORRY are you?! Did sorry keep me up last night? Did sorry kiss me last night? Did sorry ignore me two BLOODY MINUTES AGO?!" he was so close to Harry by now, that he could almost see himself in the large silver keys of the typewriter, "NO, HARRY, IT WAS YOU!"

The young dark haired man was trembling by this point, tears beading on the ledge of his lashes, threatening to drop and make his emotional state as clear as the day outside. "I ... I wasn't ..."

"YOU WHAT?!"

The tear dropped.

It was as though it had happened in slow motion; the single crystal tear dropped from clenched, curled black lashes and exploded upon the floor. A small sniffle came from the young boys' nose and that is when Draco's anger ebbed away just enough for him to see Harry for what he truly was; alone. A small, parent-less little boy thrown into the wild life that was Paris' nightlife. He felt his stomach clench in on itself. He ran a hand down his sweaty face, grimacing at how short-lived the effects of the bath were.

He stepped over and hooked his finger under Harry's chin, jerking the boys' head upwards so that they were face-to-face. Harry's bottom lip was trembling slightly, as silent tears ran their way down his feverish cheeks. "I'm sorry," he breathed out against Draco's clammy palm, rubbing his cheek into the cup of Draco's palm. He was trembling slightly. Draco pursed his lips and stroked his thumb along the flustered cheek, attempting to wipe away some of the tear-track that was damp beneath his hand. He bent his knees slightly, and touched their forehead together after a moments of hesitation.

Harry swallowed thickly.

Draco stroked his thumb against Harry's cheek again, before letting out a shaky breath.

"Please ... d-don't yell anymore" Harry sniffled weakly, "be angry if you wish, but don't shout ... my father always shouted at me ... before he hit me"

Draco blinked in surprise. So that must be the reason Harry upped and left everything behind him and came to live all on his own in Paris. He pressed their foreheads together a little harder. "Don't cry anymore, okay?" Draco breathed softly, their noses touching as he spoke softly, trying to soothe Harry's rattled nerves. He continued the stroking motion against Harry's cheek. Harry nodded against his hand and exhaled weakly.

"I'm sorry D-Draco"

"Don't be," Draco breathed, suddenly aware of how close they were and what his next move should be. He didn't know. The young boy looked tired. "Alright, you need a good hour long nap, alright?" Harry hesitated before nodding his head cautiously. "Good. Wrap your arms around my neck," Harry obliged, his eyes still downcast. Draco bent down a little and hooked his arms around Harry's small chest and pulled him up, out of the chair, and onto his feet.

They stood that way for a little while, with Harry more-or-less leaning completely against Draco's chest, the blonds chin almost resting in his nest of unruly black hair. Harry blinked away his tears and sniffed, looking up as he did so. Draco's heavily lidded eyes gazed down into his own. He swallowed thickly, his body temperature sky-rocketing as he suddenly felt how close they were. He could practically feel Draco's p- No! He couldn't think like that! Not after last night ...

In a split second Draco's long fingers were clutched in Harry's hair pulling him upwards, and Harry was clinging onto the blond tightly, as they stumbled backwards towards the creaky double bed and fell upon the mattress, their lips melded together as they kissed one another passionately, trying to get in as many kisses as possible before their reckless ambition drained away. Harry felt the blonds strong legs tangle in with his own roughly, his strong arms gripped tightly around the younger boy, hugging him close.

The mattress under his back was comforting as Harry looked up, breathing deeply from the break of the kiss. His body felt as though it was on fire as the passionate blond straddled his hips and his cheeks blossomed with a feverish glow as he panted down on Harry, his damp fringe falling around his head. Harry had never felt so aroused before in his life and neither had the blond judging by the way that his erection was pressing up against Harry's thigh.

He bit his lip and looked into the blond mans eyes, "w-we shouldn't be doing this ... should we?"

Draco shook his head a fraction as he stared down at the young boy beneath him, at how soft the tanned skin looked and wondered how it tasted, at how deliciously dishevelled Harry looked, pinned down to the mattress, his glasses lying beside the pillow long-forgotten. "Probably not," he breathed shakily as he lowered his body flat against Harry's and ground their arousal's together. Harry arched his neck back and moaned beautifully, "definitely not," Draco whispered as he nipped at Harry's earlobe. Another moan.

"D-Draco ..." Harry moaned again as Draco continued to kiss up and down the brunette's neck. Suddenly Harry's eyes flew wide, "Wait! The rehearsal!"

Draco clenched his jaw before fiddling around for his pocket-watch. He glanced briefly at the face before smirking. "Eleven thirty. We still have an hour"

Harry felt a stirring in his stomach. Something that felt similar to butterfly wings fluttering. He allowed a small smile to crawl onto his mouth, "O-okay ... but only an hour"

* * *

**A/N: I decided that all the suspense needed to be broken by a little bit of fluffy-ness. And cause more problems in the real world outside of Harry's apartment. Enjoy! R+R please :)**


	9. One, two, three, One, two, three

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the oppurutnity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesean and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influental heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognisable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge  
**

**One, two, three, one, two, three**

"No! I told you one step back, lift and then turn! What are you idiots not understanding?!"

Blaise was at his wits end as the bell for lunch time rang out across the vast hall. He sighed a low, rumbling sound, and pinched the bridge of his nose. The morning had been a disaster; nearly every can-can dancer had made inappropriate move suggestions for his dance, and he was sick to death of telling them how the dance was performed, no exceptions.

They simply would not listen. He had found half of the women grinding against the men as they sat in the chairs in their white vests and black work trousers. The amount of pinging braces rang in his ears. He was on the verge of screaming and shouting into their faces. He needed reinforcements but no one else was due to come until after their quick lunch break. He hoped that the strict tempo would force the dancers to focus on where to put their feet instead of where the men's groins were. His stomach gave a growl but he ignored it as he clapped his hands and demanded that they all take half an hour to forty minutes to eat.

Pouts were sent from every direction as the women reluctantly released their partners in exchange for some food. Their white petticoats and nude coloured corsets made their make-up stand-out vividly in the bright light. Blaise had not understood why they felt the need to make themselves up for a rehearsal -not even a dress-rehearsal at that -and had ordered them to wash their faces before they came back after lunch.

Most of them were getting agitated with Blaise's up-tight attitude but none complained to his face.

"You have half an hour!" he barked as he flexed his arm muscles over his head, "eat your food and wipe the make-up off of your face!"

Another grumbling chorus echoed around the hall as the dancers sneered over their glasses and plates at Blaise but he paid them no heed. He needed to focus on the basic steps despite how desperate he was to show them yet another example of how this specific dance should be danced, as well as the accompanying tango and a variation of others. His muscles were jittery with anticipation. He knew he would need a dancer's help with the little demonstration but it was picking a descent dancer to help him.

He groaned to himself. It was impossible.

~0~

"_Draco?_"

The blond man ignored the boy behind him, still interlaced with the soft sheets. He was sitting on the end of the bed and had his head in his hands, his elbows planted firmly on his knees. His fingers were raking through his disheveled blond hair. His heart was still racing and screaming heavily in his ears and was pounding rhythmically against the walls of his rib cage. It was so painful. His throat was scratchy with the emotions he had suffocated a little while earlier.

It had been going amazingly well; Draco had Harry pinned to the mattress, their hot mouths and tongue exploring the others, hands roaming over rough, starched garments. The sun climbed higher in the sky and burning heat poured in through the open windows. Draco had adored controlling the submissive boy underneath him. He reveled in the dominance he had felt -a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time.

He adored everything that Harry did; the way he bit his bottom lip, how his bright green eyes rolled back into his head, his long black eyelashes curling and creating long, spider-like shadows against his caramel-tinted skin. He loved the silky mess that was Harry's hair, that he was hypnotized by as he tugged and threaded his long, pale fingers through the untamed hair.

He felt his heart swell at the rosy blush that kissed Harry's cheekbones as he arched under Draco's soft caressing hands down his front through his button-down shirt. They had ground against one another and clutched handfuls of one another's clothing, both wanting to tear the cloth to shreds but at the same time, both men were frightened about what would happen if they went too far.

Harry had pouted and moaned into Draco's warm wet mouth, bucking his hips against the blonds as the sheets tangled even more beneath their bodies.

Until Draco had roughly broken away and scurried to the end of the bed, panting, his hair ruffled and sticking up in all direction, his cheeks flustered, his chest heaving as he panted heavily.

Harry had frowned up at him, propping himself up on his elbows his own breathing erratic and somewhat painful now that the pleasant weight of Draco leaning upon him had vanished. He swallowed thickly and watched as the blond shifted into a sitting position, his bare feet planted firmly on the rough wooden floorboards underneath the bed, and dropped his blond head into his hands.

The minutes had ticked by -the faint heartbeat of Draco's pocket watch ticking away each second.

Harry's throat became tight as he forced the name over his tongue, "Draco?"

He watched as the blond man shook his head a minor fraction, just enough for Harry to see the fine blond hairs shift and flutter with the movement. His fingers itched to stroke it through the silken blond tresses, messed up or not. He shifted awkwardly on the mattress and drew his knees up to his chest, the cloth of his trousers and shirt feeling so rough against his skin compared to the hot, cotton-soft touch of Draco's hot lips. Harry ran a clammy hand through his hair. He shifted weakly to the middle of the bed and reached a hand out to touch Draco's shoulder.

The blond flinched weakly, but Harry pressed his palm firmer against Draco's shoulder. "Draco, look at me for a moment" The blond sighed and peaked at Harry through his fringe that had fallen in front of his eyes. Harry suppressed a weak smile, "there's no reason for this to continue. It can be a mistake. We'll just forget about it. It never happened, okay?"

Draco let out a shuddering breath. He felt the confusion pressing against the walls of his head, flooding his skull like water, and stopping all forms of rational thoughts. Did he want to forget that it had happened? No, he was not sure that he did. It would be easier to do so, but he knew he would not like it. Did he want to be classed a 'mistake' in his life? Well, he did not know, but none of his other mistakes had filled him with such euphoria. The answer to all of it was rather simple once his blood had boiled down.

He did not know.

He glanced down at Harry's small hand on his shoulder and exhaled softly, bringing his fingertips up to touch at Harry's own. Harry's fingers twitched slightly. He could not help the wan smile that flickered onto his mouth. A swollen cloud of sadness began to bloom in his chest. He did not want Draco to go -for this moment to be forgotten -however he could not jeopardize this opportunity for a career. Nor would he risk Draco's own livelihood. His thraot suddenly felt dry, "Draco ... the rehearsal-"

The blond sniffed haughtily before clearing his throat, "right, yes, of course" He huffed more so to himself, and eased himself up off of the edge of the bed and pranced over to the thin mirror propped up in the corner of the room and started adjusting his unfastened shirt; tucking it into his trousers and straightening out his cuffs and collar. The gems embedded into the silver cuff-links glimmered in the midday sunlight. Harry watched from the bed, chin resting awkwardly on his knees. His back ached at the strange position but he was too focused on Draco adjusting his persona to pay it much heed.

Feeling a little out of sorts, Harry removed himself from the tangle of sweaty bed sheets, and made a hazardous attempt to straighten himself out with his shaking hands.

Draco caught a flash of raven hair in the corner of the mirror and turned to look over his shoulder at the messy brunette as he tried to tidy his appearance. He stood before the mirror for a while; watching as Harry's child-like muscles danced beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. He watched as the trousers grew taut around Harry's buttocks as he bent to adjust the shoes on his feet. He snapped his head away and mentally scowled himself for allowing his eyes to wander.

It never happened.

"Are you almost ready, Harry?" Draco asked curtly, his voice hurting even his own ears. He watched as the young boys' muscles stiffened slightly.

His fingers were frozen in place over his shirt buttons. What had happened to the heated whisper from earlier -of the alleged nickname that he had grown used to? "N-nearly ready. Don't worry, Blaise may get vicious when he's angry but he barely pays attention to watches or clocks so yo-we'll be fine"

Draco nodded his head stiffly, arms tightening around his chest as he made his way towards the door to Harry's apartment, "well we would not want to keep Mister. Zabini waiting any longer than necessary"

Harry, now finished with his buttons, inclined his head awkwardly and avoided Draco's eyes as he walked out through the door after the blond and turned the key in the lock. Facing the wood of his door, inhaling the musty mahogany scent, trying to control the tearing sensation he felt within his chest. He did not need to turn to know that Draco was already walking away from him -his apartment -the scene of their sodomy -the clicking of the blond's heels on the roughened floors was enough indication.

He exhaled heavily and roughly rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, his glasses jabbing roughly against the bridge of his nose as he did so.

Letting out a shuddering breath, he turned away from the battered door of his apartment, and slipped the small brass key into the pocket of his trousers.

He would remain professional in this matter -or he would die trying.

~0~

"I am so glad that you're hear!" was the first thing that Harry and Draco heard as they entered into the dancing hall. Draco was virtually brushed off to one side as Blaise's dark-skinned arms wound themselves tightly around Harry's small figure in a bone-crushing hug. The blond man towered over both men by a little less than a head, and felt his back straighten automatically and his chest contract to half its original size as he watched Harry smile and return the hug as easily as Blaise had hugged him.

He stretched his neck muscles and turned to observe the rehearsal grounds, his lip curling in distaste as he did so. Women in their undergarments, with long flowing petticoats, and men in trousers and braces grubby white shirts. He frowned and turned his attention back to Blaise, "so how have the rehearsals been going?" he asked curtly, mentally thanking God that the darker man had released Harry from his embrace.

Blaise sighed and shook his head, "it has to be the worst sort of set-up for dancing rehearsals in the world! It's a wonder they can even do the can-can"

Draco watched as Harry's face blanched. "A-are they really that bad? They can't be bad -they're -they're the only dancers around here for miles!" he ran a hand through his messy black hair -hair that Draco's own fingers had messed-up and tugged at.

His fingers itched to tug at it again.

Blaise inhaled and nodded his head, "I know, Harry, I know! I have no idea what to do -they simply refuse to learn! And Lord knows what I am going to do if that Weasley girl cannot dance! I am so close to tearing out my hair, and you and I both know I cannot afford to do that!"

Harry did not even have the heart to smile at the lame attempt of humor. His eyes scanned the rows of supposed dancers and his heart leaped up into his throat. This could not be happening. His frantic eyes darted from one can-can dancer to the next before he turned to Draco with a crestfallen expression, "you might as well go and tell your father that this play if off. There is no way we can teach them to dance and act in roughly two months, let alone to follow a strict plot-line AND -stop grinding against the men," he ended heavily as he eyed the semi-clad girls.

Draco followed the brunettes gaze as the girls flaunted their bosoms to the men. He cocked an eyebrow. "How many demonstrations have you showed them?" he asked bluntly.

"A few -not that my dance partners have been any good either" Blaise took his hat off and ran a hand through his oily black locks. "Mister Malfoy can you help me? They might listen to you"

"Why would you think that?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Well, you know, your father-" Blaise trailed off, seemingly having no need to complete his explanation.

Draco nodded his head in understanding and blanched inwardly at dancing in front of these sneering women. "Alright, how would you recommend we do this?"

"Well I'll get them all paired up and spaced out and then we can take it one step at a time and see how they do. But I will need you paired up with a dummy partner, and I can go around and adjust each pair that are not doing something correctly, how does that sound?"

Draco nodded, "that sounds very efficient. It sounds as though it will work. Well, go and pair them up and I will -prepare myself"

Blaise clapped his hands together and smiled, his faith and hope renewed. He ventured over to the crowd of dancers, clapping his hands and his strict voice echoing dimly in the corners of the room. Harry turned to Draco, his expression still troubled, "thank you for doing this, I know you don't have to ... I'm just -"

"I know" Draco stated with a soft ghost of a smile pulled tight on his lips. "But this isn't just for you, I need to make sure that my investment remains safe"

Harry nodded his head in a quick jerky manner. He did not really know how he should take the latter statement; was Draco joking or was he being serious? He could not tell.

He turned his attention to the gaggle of dancers who were now all paired up in the middle of the dance-hall. They were all awaiting their instructions from Blaise who was stood on the stage, looking down on them all. "Now you lot, since you seem to have no concept of dancing, I want you to forget everything you've been taught up to this point" a murmur of suspicion spread throughout the hall as Blaise dropped down off of the stage and walked over towards Draco and Harry. "Our very own Mister Malfoy, here, is going to help demonstrate the basic steps of this dance -but he does not have a partner" A few of the women's hands fluttered up into the air but Blaise sneered them down, "none of you, you hopefully cows! If you cannot dance how do you expect to dance with our investor here?" The hands sank back into the crowd. "Alright, Mister. Malfoy, Harry will be your partner, he is not as crippled in the dancing department as these women"

Harry swallowed thickly.

Draco's stomach lurched uncomfortably.

Blaise ushered Harry's frozen body over to Draco's and circled them like a vulture; placing Harry's hand gently on Draco's shoulder, shuffled their bodies a fraction closer, slid Draco's controlled hand down to rest in the small of Harry's back...

"Perfect!" he exclaimed once he had circled them a final time. "Now, Mister. Malfoy I truth that you know this specific dance already, yes?" Blaise inquired.

Harry swallowed and felt his body grow hot and tight as Draco's cool gaze bore into his own, those half-lidded eyelids rimmed with thick golden lashes glistened under the lamplight. They were so close -and touching -his limbs were close to quivering but he forced them to remain solid, like concrete. He watched as Draco's nodded his head in response to Blaise's question. Harry could not help but notice how stiff both of their bodies were as Blaise fumbled around to get Flitwick to play a basic tune on the violin.

A tune rang out throughout the hall and tingles shot through every muscle in Harry's body.

"Ready?" Blaise called out, "One, two, three, one, two, three, GO!"

His breath hitched as Draco suddenly took a step backwards, guiding Harry with him, his left hand hot and heavy in the small of Harry's back. He felt so clumsy as he tried to remember the basic steps of the dance so as not to look like a fool in front of all these sneering women. However, Draco's movements were so precise and strong that the moves soon returned to Harry's brain and the close proximity he felt towards the blond's muscular chest reassured the throbbing nerves in his system.

The music thrummed at his heartstrings as he was guided along the polished mahogany floorboards.

He feared to tear his eyes away from Draco's smoldering grey orbs; they were half-lidded and boring into his very heart, stroking his soul with long golden lashes, and the hot breath that whispered through the narrow gap between his petal-pink lips was enough to make Harry's cheeks flush with adoration.

"_Harry?_"

Blaise's voice trickled back into his brain, breaking through the sudden and abrupt silence that had descended. Harry started slightly and turned to look at Blaise who had silenced the musicians and had taken a stance in front of the group. Draco's hands were beautifully warm against his back and within his hand, and Harry really did not want to let go.

But he had to.

Because Draco's muscles were rigid beneath his grasp.

Harry reluctantly unfastened his light grip upon Draco's hand and arm and clutched his arms behind his back, an awkward gesture he seemed to have picked up over the years, "you -you dance beautifully ... Draco"

A smirk tugged at Draco's lips, "why thank you. You dance rather well yourself -Mister Potter"

There was the shot of ice again.

It pierced mercilessly through Harry's heart, making his breathing hitch weakly.

He mentally shook his head and berated himself for being foolish. He turned back to Blaise, "so how was that?"

Blaise nodded approvingly, "very good. Better than what this lot have been up to all day long" he turned to the paired up couples and clapped his hands, "alright Flitwick! Count them in! Annnnd one, two, three, one, two, three -GO!" The couples began to move, as did Blaise -worming in between them and sliding a hand higher up from a woman's bottom, or squaring their shoulders.

The only two people who were no longer moving was Draco and Harry.

The blond man looked down at his companion, "well I suppose all it takes it the right person to get these people to pay attention" he commented dryly.

Harry nodded, his eyes straying from the dancing couples, "I still don't think that we will be up and running properly for two months time"

Draco hummed in agreement, "well lets hope that they pick up otherwise we shall have to hire professional dancers-"

"These women are supposed to be a form of professional dancers!" Harry ground out heatedly.

Draco could nod, "I understand but if thing do not improve at least within the next fortnight you may have to do a little ... re-casting"

Harry groaned and ran his ahnds down his face, "I am too afraid to change anything at the moment. On top of all of this I still cannot find a descent Sitar player back-up in case something happens to Blaise and his condition, nor have I even thought about how this will all end!"

"All I can suggest to you, is that you take things one step at a time"

Harry jerked his head up at the cold tone in which Draco was addressing him with. He tightened his jaw and squared his shoulders, straightening up to his fall height, which was still just a head shorted than Draco. "I suppose I should get back to it then" he ground out heartlessly.

Without another word he had departed from the dance hall.


	10. Writer's Block

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the opportunity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesan and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influential heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognizable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge**

**Writer's Block**

Blank.

That's all that was on the thick paper paper in front of him, wedged mercilessly in the metal confines of his type-writer. That's all his mind was, also. Blank. There were no ideas forthcoming, and no mysterious scandals to occupy his mind with and then manipulate into his story. He groaned and ran a hand down his face, feeling grubby to the touch. And yet he had no desire to take a bath. He was just too stressed to think, and yet his mind just didn't seem to be able to switch itself off.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands, banging his head subconsciously on the edge of his desk. "What is wrong with me?" he groaned as he clawed at his hair in sheer frustration. "Why can I not write anything?" He had been at it for two days since -the incident -and yet he had barely written any more than three pages. He needed to get a move on otherwise they show would not have an ending, and without an ending, let alone a satisfying one, the Duke would not allow him any commission on his own work of art, and then where would he be? Right back to square one; a pennyless writer.

He groaned again.

He needed an injection of passion, something that this story was seriously lacking at the present time. He ran a hand through his hair and closed his sore eyes. All he needed right now, was a miracle. And a bath. He opted to take the bath first, and then head down to the Sunday market and stock up on provisions. He refused to attend church -Oh, his dear mother would be so ashamed of him if she were alive to scould him. Sighing in defeat, but at least with a plan in his mind, he went over to heat up some water for his oh-so-thrilling bath.

~0~

Each and every seat in every pew was filled to the brim with Sunday-goer's of the Bohemian world, attempting to find some form of forgiveness for whatever sins they had committed during the last week. Among these church-goers was fresh-faced Draco Malfoy, dressed in his Sunday suit and clasping his mother's beautiful pocket-watch in his hand as he joined the procession to the altar to accept a circular wafer, the sign of the Cross, and drink Christ's blood. The wine was strong and slightly bitter as it burned down the back of his throat, but he did not mind. As he slowly eased his way back to his pew and to his seat, he mentally debated on whether he should seek solace from confession or not.

As he sat down to read yet another prayer from the small, blue prayer-books, he could not help but think about his mother and what she would be thinking of him, in Heaven. He knew she was in Heaven. It was a fact; his mother had not sinner in her life. He knew where he would be going -to Hell, alongside his father and Harry and even that red-mouthed little brat, Ginevra. He shuddered at the thought of spending eternal damnation with HER hanging off of his arm. Another shudder ran through him.

He did not know if confession would do him any good at this point in his life. All he could do was go along with his father's plan and wed Ginevra, turn her into a star and gain the majority of the earnings. His stomach twisted painfully. He did not know if he could stand being married to that red-haired woman for a moment, let alone a life-time. He sighed outwardly and ran his slender fingers over the pearls of his mother's Rosemary, prayers tumbling through his lips. He removed his pocket-watch from his waistcoat and glanced and the glimmering hands. As soon as the surface was concluded he needed to meet Ginerva and Arthur outside of the Elephant and attend the Sunday Market in town. He was intrigued by the bohemian artefacts he might stumbled upon, despite himself. Perhaps he would find something to place on his mother's grave when he returned home; she had always adored the Bohemain way of life, if, from afar.

"-And may Peace be with you!" called out the Priest at the altar.

"And also with you," came the monotone response from those gathered in the pews, before they each began to shuffle out, towards the large oak doors that seperated them from the real world.

As soon as Draco stepped out onto the baked cobblestones of the Square, he felt brighter, warmer, more hopeful of the day ahead of him. The only cloud upon the horizon was that of his dinner that evening with Ginevra. His father had arranged it but he had always tried to find ways to cancel it. It would not be anything spectacular, merely a light dinner in the Elephant before the evening rehearsal. Draco grimaced at having to attend another tiresome rehearsal; they dragged on for so long and he grew frustrated as people could not recite a few simple lines when he practically knew the play back-to-front. He wondered if Harry had managed to write anything else.

He drew himself up short.

He was not supposed to be thinking of that messy-haired little boy, he was supposed to be thinking of Ginevra. He inwardly cringed as he thumbed the outline of his pocket-watch through his waistcoat and made his way around the church. Two bright orbs of fiery red hair caught his eye as he came to the mouth of the wide cobbled walk-way between a bar, the Elephant, and the Moulin Rouge. Ginevra stood -covered up for a change -in a deep blue satin day-dress with matxhing parisole and her bright hair curled tightly underneath a small hat, a few errand curls dripping before her eyes and at the nape of her neck. From afar, she did look quite beautiful, but it was the image of her long, white legs thrown into the air, her body half-naked and her shrill, piercing voice that made him recoil from her.

Upon catching sight of him walking their way, she raised her arm into the air and calls out, "Hello there! Draco! We've been waiting an age and a half for you!"

Draco took delight that even Arthur seemed to wince at how shrill her voice was, as he came up to them and shook the redhead man's hand and planted a chaste kiss on the back of Ginevra's. She flushed undelicately as she tilted her parisole over her head and pushed her small breasts out even further. Draco arched his arm out before him, "shall we?" he asked with a small, forced smile. Ginevra links her arm through his and pushed her body up against his as they walk off together -Arthur waving them goodbye before turning to return to the almost complete theatre.

~0~

'A_s it turns out the maharajah was merely a boy, a young man if that, following in his father's foosteps. His life was mapped out for him, in permanent ink upon parchment as thick and heavy as the earth. The courtesan did not know this, and there was no way that he could let her know. He had the money and the power and the advantage to make numeral mistakes and not get caught._

_However, one night when he is watching the glamorous skin of the delicious courtesan flash in and out between silken scarves of all imaginable colours, there is a gentle knocking at the window that only he seems able to hear -the gentle plinking of pebbles upon the iron-cast window frames. Whilst the courtesan and her ladies-in-waiting finish their performance and disappear to properly cover their skins. Making sure that the young ladies were otherwise occupied, the young Maharajah stepped out onto the large, marble balcony and looked around to find not a soul. Just as he was turning around to return inside, a large pebble caught his eye, with a scrap of parchment tied to it._

_Curious, he bent to retrieve it and read the message upon it:_

_**YOU LIVE SO ROYALLY YOU CANNOT SEE YOUR OWN MISERY. LET ME SHOW YOU A SIMPLE WAY TO BE HAPPY. MEET ME TOMORROW NIGHT UNDER THE MAPLE TREE.**_

_Enraged at the audacity of this intruder, the maharajah bid his bride-to-be goodnight, and on the following night, with the pebble tucked into his pocket, made his way to the Infamous Lone maple tree on the large hill opposite the palace_'

Blaise looked up from the page. He frowned and flipped it to its reverse side, but saw no more words on the thick paper. Looking up he smiled and placed the small extract on top of the writing desk, where Harry sat, biting his thumbnail, having thoroughly scrubbed himself up and wore a freshly laundered white shirt that seemed to reflect every ray of brilliant sunlight that filtered in through the half-drawn blinds. "It's good" he stated smiling, as Harry continued to gnaw at his thumbnail.

The brunette cocked an eyebrow, "you think so?"

Blaise looked mock-offended, "you think I'd lie? Besides, I think that it is relatable -don't you?"

"Someone trying to steal a Prince's bride-to-be and him getting royally pissed? Yes, I can see that happening"

Blaise let out a rough bark of laughter, "well there you go then, boy-o! You have nothing to worry about. Now come on! Let's go! I refuse to buy the maggoty cheese again"

Harry frowned up at his companion with a look of disgust curling his lips, "you _willingly_ bought maggot-infested cheese from a Sunday Market?"

Blaise blinked owlishly, "it was there. I was hungry. Plus ... I did technically fall asleep on my feet for over an hour and missed-out on the good cheese"

Harry could only roll his eyes at his friend as they both sauntered out of his garrett and down the narrow staircase. As soon as they stepped out of the building they were enveloped in sunshine. Harry felt a shiver run through him as his skin was warmed up and his nerves evapourated into the air around him. The Square a few blocks away was bathed in sunlight and crammed with early morning church-goes going around for their weekly shop and grabbing some little trinkets to take home with them for their children or for their own amusement. Harry admired the small trinkets and food stalls as he walked passed; he could do with a few more shirts, definately more socks and under-garments. As his arms became laden with purchases, he also decided that he may as well infest in some thicker blankets -winter was coming up after all. The items did not cost as much as he had anticipated.

Blaise had flounced off somewhere to attend to a young lady, so Harry was left to his own devices. He didn't mind, as he walked over the warm cobblestones and ran his fingers over a pair of dark, heavy-set drapes. They were a gorgeous wine colour and could make his little apartment feel more like 'home'. Plus it would help keep any drafts out during the evenings. As he was tracing the fine trimming on the very edge, another set of long, elegant fingers touched his own, and then flinched away as though burnt. He looked up -and wished that he had not. There stood Draco in all his Sunday finery with a rather bouncy Ginevra on his arm. They looked every bit the perfect couple. His heart grew heavier and sank within his chest. "Good morning," he said tartly, as he snatched the rich fabric from under both of their noses. He bundled it up carefully and handed it over to the plump woman running the stall, "I'll take those please" he smiled brightly as she beamed over at him.

"Nice to see you up and about, Mister. Potter," Draco stated passionlessly, as he eyed the notes Harry handed over to the plump stall-owner.

The fabric -now wrapped -was passed back over to Harry, along with his change. He inclined his head towards Draco, "have a pleasant day"

"Oh, bless your soul! I didn't see you there!" squealed Ginevra as she bustled forward a few steps, obsucrring Draco behind her piled hair and small hat. She beamed brightly at Harry with such a wide mouth that he could see where the ruby red lipstick had coloured her teeth. He grimaced outwardly. She did not notice. "So, how is the end of the play coming along? Are you going to make me a star?!"

Wincing at her shrill voice, Harry nodded numbly, "well, I don't think that the viewers will be forgetting it any time soon"

"Ooh! Did you here that, love?!" Ginevra purred shrilly, her hands splayed over Draco's chest as she batted her thin ginger eyelashes up at him, "young Harry is going to make me a star!"

Draco looked down at her with a hint of dark amusement, "Well, my dear, he did not actually say-"

"Oh, I just can't wait!" she cut-across him, earning the back of her head a scowl from the blonde man. Her dull brown eyes flew to the church clock, "oh dear, it is getting rather late. I should head back. I'll see you tonight for dinner" she tiptoed up and pressed a delicated kiss on Draco's high cheekbones before turning to face them both, hands planted firmly on her hips, "and I shall see you both at the rehearsal!"

Without another word she was off across the Square.

Draco turned to face Harry, only to find that the younger boy had turned and walked away towards his building, satchel of purchases slung over his broad shoulders. Thoroughly annoyed, the blond man stalked after the mop of black hair, weaving in between Sunday shoppers and through the narrow alleyways to his building. The further they got from the market, the quieter the world seemed to become and the more tranquil their surroundings appearred to become. Draco was amazed, however his frustration made him hurry through all the peacefulness and climb the narrow staircase to Harry's floor.

Harry was just closing the door when Draco reached out and stopped him in the process. The brunette scowled up at him, but said nothing, as he turned to his bed and began to unpack his thick, canvas satchel. Frownign heavily, the blond man placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. He bent down so as to whisper softly in his ear, "you were a little rude to us out there, you are aware of that, aren't you?"

Harry snorted and shrugged the hand off of his shoulder, walking around to the other side of the bed to continue unpacking. Draco watched as wine was put away, along with other foods, before a few new items of clothing were stacked away neatly in what little furniture the room had to offer. The blankets were piled in both chairs beside the stove, and the drapes were slung over his shoulder before he moved towards the large windows.

"Harry, why were you rude to me -to us? Have we done something to offend you?"

"Ha!" Harry cried out, his voice cracked and hollow, as he spun around, drapes collapsing onto the floor by his feet, his eeys glimmering with anger. "She has not done a thing to offend me other than be herself -she in a personification of offense to all human senses! But you-" he glowered longer at the blond, his lip curling in disgust in a perfect imitation of Lucius, "-you are just pathetic!"

Draco bristled, his fingers curling into fists. "Don't you DARE call me PATHETIC!"

"Well you are, aren't you? Flouncing around everywhere with her glued to your hip -rubbing everyone's noses in the fact that you're with HER!"

Draco frowned, his brain taking a little longer to process the words that had just left the young mans mouth. He straightened up and loosened his fists, "so you're angry AT ME for being with HER?"

Harry huffed and turned his back on the aristrocrat and began hanging his drapes, the room growing darker as each section was fitted into place. A silence hung low and heavy over their heads as the realisation dawned on Draco. He furrowed his brow and looked down at his shoes, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He was just about to open his mouth and say something when Harry cut over him. "I think it would be best if you leave now -and don't come back"

As he was about to protest, anger chilled through him and turned his insides cold. "Very well," he stated tonelessly as he crossed the room to the door. He turned the handle and opened it. Before he left he turned back to Harry's form silouhetted against the sunlight, "but just so you know, Potter, I can be just as cold as you make me out to be -understood?"

He watched as Harry's head dropped, "there is nothing you can do to me now, that will affect me anymore. I've seen you with her. You're happy -and it's not with me"

At this, Draco had nothing to say. He could not say anything at all, despite the fact that Harry was very wrong indeed. So he pursed his lips together, held his head high -and left.

* * *

**A/N: A short but much needed chapter. Also, more of the PLAY will be dotted around here and then ... it is important for the finale so make sure you read it carefully. R+R!**


	11. Drinks?

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the opportunity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesan and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influential heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognizable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge**

**Drinks?**

Blaise and Colin were worried for their friend. Harry had been locked away in his apartment beneath theirs all afternoon. They had tried to coax him to have an early dinner with them before the rehearsal, through the hole in his ceiling, but the young brunette had merely turned back to his type-writer and stabbed furiously at the keys. They had eaten in silence and as soon as they began making their way to the Moulin Rouge later that afternoon, Colin could not contain his worry much longer.

"What do you suppose is wrong with him, Blaise? He seems ever-so depressed and yet we are all so busy to even help him," fretted the blond man as he nervously wrung his hands before him, "and I hear him at night, grunting and throwing paper away. He's imagination is blocked"

Blaise nodded grimly, "I know. I do have a hunch as to whom may be responsible but -I feel as though he is being punished for his mistakes as it is"

Colin looked up at his friend and frowned softly, "you mean the young Malfoy heir? Why should he make young Harry so miserable?"

"He is conflicted, dear Colin. He does not know what he wants but he thinks he can fool himself into courting the Weasley girl," Blaise ground his teeth together, his fingers curling into fists. He rather disliked the Weasley girl. She was nothing but a shallow child with a head full of fancy. Harry may have imagination but at least he was doing something productive with it. He sighed and felt a stirring feeling within -the feeling he got when he was on the verge of falling unconscious again. He ran a hand down his clammy forehead and reached out a hand to rest on Colin's shoulder. "Colin, set me down on the Elephant's steps, I am feeling rather-"

"Oh Lord!" cried Colin, as Blaise fell sideways into his smaller body. Colin caught the dark-skinned man before he could colide with the cobblestones. Weighed down by Blaise, Colin did his best to drag his friend to the small steps at the base of the Elephant without dropping his face-down onto the stone. He grunted heavily as he gently released Blaise onto the step, the heavy breathing of his friend reassured the small blond man that no damage had been done. Sighing at the slight twinge in his shoulder's, Colin turned to the entrance of the Moulin Rouge and began crossing the walkway to the double oak doors.

Inside the dancers were rehearsing in small groups dotted around the hall, as well as a few people paired off to learn their lines. Colin knew he should be learning his lines, but he was much too focused on Ginevra as she tried to practise her lines with the rather bored-looking heir. Colin furrowed his brow in thought. Perhaps there was some truth to Blaise's words, however he did reason that the blond heir had taken a keen shine to Harry -by getting him and the rest of their gang this job in the first place. He began to ring his hands together again.

Something needed to be done, if only for Harry's sake.

The young blond took a deep breath and made his way across the unvarnished floorboards of the hall, towards the main stage.

"Um excuse me, Master Malfoy?" Colin chirruped, attempting to sound happier than he actually felt. He was troubled about Harry -the young boy was the sun in his Bohemian world, he was their gateway to happiness and a life of fulfilment.

Both Ginevra and Draco looked up. Their expression were complete opposites; Ginevra was looking down her nose at him as though he were something she'd stepped in on the street, and Draco's expression remained more-or-less blank, although his eyes betrayed his worry. "What on earth do you want?" Ginevra sneered, her lips screwing up in an unattractive manner, "we are rehearsing my lines -how dare you interrupt us!"

"I'm sure he has a good reason for doing so," Draco drawled in a bored tone before turning his attention to Colin, "what is it that you request?"

"Well, I have a few concerns, that is all"

Draco quirked a sleek eyebrow, "concerns? Of the play? Should you not, perhaps, consult Mr. Potter on such matters?"

Colin quickly shook his head of straw-coloured hair, "Oh I dared not disturb him now. He is busy writing and has not slept for a while! We think he may be onto a break-through!"

Draco's eyes widened slightly, but not enough for Ginevra to notice. "How interesting! I am sure my father would love to hear about this"

Colin nodded in agreement, "indeed so. However, I am worried about him. He isn't eating of sleeping properly -he spends all day cooped up -I juwst wonder if it is healthy"

"Ha!" Ginevra cackled before scowling down at Colin, "that foolish young writer -well he has far too much brain for one so small. If he is on a break-through then so be it. I shall be a star and he shall be the leech that with guzzle at my fame!" she huffed in frustration and smacked her script down upon the stage boards.

Draco cast a dark look over at his bride-to-be before returning his attention to Colin, his heart heavy with the sentence that was being rehearsed within his mind. "I'm sure he is fine, Colin. Ginevra is right, if Mister Potter is about to complete this play of his, then it's just beneficial for everybody involved, is it not?"

That was not the response that Colin had been anticipating but he let it wash over his head as he gave a curt nod. This would be trickier than he had first thought. They needed to get those two together so that they could talk and work out their issues. Even if Draco did end up marrying Ginevra it was the present that was important, not the future. Colin turned and departed from the hall, deciding to wake-up Blaise from the cool steps of the Elephant before he caught a cold.

Ginevra watched the little man go. As soon as his shadow had disappeared she exhaled in a disgusted manner, "Damned bohemains, thinking that they own this show -Why! There would be no show if I were not here, nor my darling can-can dancers," she gushed as she waved dramatically over to Pansy and Hermione who were rehearsing dance-steps. "And as for that Potter! Well, he was all hands-on and charming at first, of course he was! He wished to flatter me into running off with him like the silly tart in this play! Ha! Does he not know he is unworthy?"

Draco nodded dumbly, running a hand down his thigh, the sun-kissed imagery of Harry submitting beneath him, his sweet naked flesh contracting in pleasure as Draco pressed his mouth down over Harry's lips-

"-Draco?"

Draco blinked owlishly, "sorry, _mon cherie_, I was miles away. What did you just say?"

Ginevra bristled at being ignored, but instantly plastered a smile on her mouth, "Oh I was merely asking if you think that we need to keep Mister Potter away from everything. I fear he may be up to something"

Draco gave a harsh laugh, "what could he possibly do to us? He has no money, no family no nothing here. He is merely one young man living his dream." He spat at the words unintentionally, envy spreading through him like a poison. He clenched his fingers into fists and then rubbed at his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. That was all he needed, a headache and Ginevra nattering away in his ear.

Ginevra hummed in thought, "yes, well I suppose that you're right. Oh well, push him from your mind,_ Mon cher_, and let us rehearse!"

Draco frowned heavily, squeezing his eyes tightly. He was just about to respond that he needed some fresh air before their dinner, when Blaise Zabini's voice cut across the hall. "Enough rehearsing lines! Those scripts are not useless! I need you all to learn the dance routines! If they are not perfect then there may as well not be a show!" A hush of panicked whispers started to arise from the females. Brightly coloured skirts merged within one another as they scuttled everywhere to gossip about the news they had just received. Blaise clapped his hands loudly. "Enough! I want everyone in the middle of the dance floor!" The girls hurried to their positions on the floorboards. Ginevra huffed and forced herself to mingle with the lower dancers, as she thought of them. She was the star, damn everything! If anything she should get private dance lessons.

Draco watched the mass of colourful skirts standing upright in the center of the hall, and inwardly groaned. He pushed himself up from the edge of the stage where he had been sitting and dusted himself off. He straightened his waistcoat and primly slid into his suit-jacket. He needed some fresh air. He fumbled with his pocket-watch and glanced at the hands within it. 2:10pm. He sighed softly and replaced the priceless watch within his breast-pocket. He needed time to himself, to think.

He needed Harry.

Harry was the perfect distraction. He knew they were not on speaking terms, and the mornings harsh encounter was still a festering wound at the back of his mind, however he desperately needed a distraction. He made his way across the floorboards towards the double-door entrance.

"I shall see you tonight, _mon cher_!" Ginevra's sickly sweet voice called out. It echoed around the hall and sent shiver's running up and down Draco's spine. He merely raised a hand, showing that he'd heard her, before continuing out onto the wide walk-way.

He inhaled deeply as the sweet-scented air hung around him like a cloud. As soon as he was away from all of those leering eyes, he felt more like himself. Free. He glanced up at the Gothic tower and debated on merely returning to his room and reading some of the heavy books he had brought with him to entertain himself on quiet afternoons. Yet, he had rarely had any time to himself since he had arrived in Paris. He ran a hand down his face. He knew he really ought to go and see Harry. He had been rather rude to him. It was no his fault, he had just wanted the young man to understand that nothing could ever happen between them.

He had to marry Ginevra.

It was what had to be done.

He inwardly winced as he replayed what had transpired that morning, in his head. Harry had been tired and easy to anger, he had seen that in his eyes. And yet he had continued, trying to get the young man to understand. That there was no way out of it. He felt anger and other emotions swell behind his eyes. This was ridiculous! Why was he thinking all of these thoughts? Why was he seeing Harry's, warm naked body beneath him every time he closed his eyes? He choked on air and clasped a hand over his mouth.

"Young Master Malfoy, what ever is the matter? You look rather pale this afternoon"

Draco's eyes snapped down so that he was looking at Colin. He inwardly winced. He did not have the strength for this. He looked away, facing the opposite end of the walkway. "I'm fine, Colin. You should return to the rehearsal"

"Oh, never mind that. Blaise will keep them all rather busy with this dance rehearsal" Colin stated with a weak smile, "would you like to get a drink. It is a rather dry afternoon and you probably have little else planned until dinner this evening"

Draco was about to open his mouth and reprimand the small man for assuming such things, but he closed it when his mouth ran dry and he realized just how much he wanted that drink -and someone to talk to. He sighed and allowed his shoulders to slouch in a very un-aristocratic manner. "Very well. I shall join you for a drink. I am rather -exhausted"

Colin ran a critical eye over the tall blond heir and nodded, "yes, well it is a trying time for all of us"

Draco frowned down at the smaller man, trying to work out just how much of his -unholy -afternoon with Harry the man actually knew about. After a few moments of quietly observing the small man, Draco clicked his tongue before nodding. "I do need something to do, otherwise I shall find myself secluded in the Tower with little else to do other than read"

Colin nodded his head and began walking slowly down the walk-way, "well yes I suppose seeing as you have to read the same script day-after-day it does fet rather boring to read in general"

Draco nodded, "so where do you plan on taking me for this drink, then?"

"Just to that small pub over there. It is my usual drinking hole, so we won't have any troubles with any other customers"

Draco could only nod and clutch at his mother's-pocket-watch through the fabric of his coat, as he followed the smaller man towards the small, rather ordinary-looking building at the end of the walk-way.


	12. Heart to Heart

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the opportunity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesan and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influential heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognizable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge**

**Heart to Heart**

[ONE MONTH, TWENTY-NINE DAYS UNTIL THE SHOW]

"So tell me, what exactly do you plan on doing about our little Harry?" Colin asked as he slid a tall glass across the table to Draco. The blond man frowned at the froth-headed drink, but accepted it as well as he could. He frowned a little as Colin seated himself opposite and drew his own drink closer before downing half of it.

"I have no intention of allowing anything that may or may not have been with Mister Potter to continue. I have a ... I suppose she is as good as my fiance now. I cannot just leave her, floundering like a fish caught in a net"

Colin shrugged, "she seemed to be doing just fine before you and your father showed up. Now she's prancing around like a spoiled mare, like her waste doesn't stink" he scoffed, a little too darkly for his usual temperment. He stroked the pad of his index finger around the brim of the glass, "if you ask me, you are almost way in over your own head. Harry needs you, even just as a friend. You inspire him!"

Draco hummed in thought as he took a cautious sip from his own drink. The glass was heavy and cold against his palm. He drank deeply from his glass before placing it back on the battered, oak table between them. "Where Mister Potter gets his inspiration from is none of my concern," he stated cooly, "I am however curious to see what he had written for the finale"

"He has two ideas" Colin stated after a few moments of scrutinizing Draco's porcelain features until the dim light that filtered in through the windows. In this dim light, Colin looked almost impish to Draco. It was a little unnerving how the shadow caught into somewhat invisible contours of his small face. Draco watched as the smaller man traced small patterns in to the tabletop with his forefinger. "The first is for a happily ever after with the maharajah and the courtesan," Draco nodded to show that he was listening, "the other, however, is a little more scandalous. More able to stick in people's minds"

"What is the second option?" Draco asked, his palms sweltering.

"That there is an illicit friendship between the young, impressionable heir to the Maharajah's throne -with the penniless Sitar player -and they strike up a heart-warming bond that eventually causes chaos since, as you may well know, royalty seldom mingle with us common folk"

Draco's mouth twisted into a grim line, his grip on his glass a little too tight. "He told you this?" he finally rasped, his throat dry and swollen with the sudden heat that washed through him. Colin merely nodded and watch the blond heir from over the brim of his glass as he casually took another sip. Draco groaned and rubbed his knuckles against his forehead. "This is all your idea to get us to be friends, is it?"

Colin shrugged, "be whatever you wish to be with him, Mister Malfoy. Just don't antagonise him. As for Ginerva well ... unless you intend to be in the play ..." he trailed off with gesturing hands.

Draco snorted disdainfully, "I'm more of an under-study at this rate, with all of those times that I have to run lines with her and watch her get fitted for her costumes"

"So don't do it," Colin stated as though it was the most obvious solution in the world. At Draco's glare the smaller man merely grinned, "Well you and your father ARE investors are you not? It's rather like cheating having you there every waking hour of the day to determine what is good and what isn't. This show is meant to surprise you, but how can either of you be surprised when you're seeing how it is being constructed?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Colin but did contemplate on what the smaller blond had told him. It was true, this had not been his plan for his stay in Paris. He had merely been permitted to attend a few conferrances with Weasley senior and that was to be it. He would have only listened to what his father told him about the delays and the hazardous orgasnisationals skills, but other than that he would have been free to do as he please. He focused his attention on Colin who had almost completely drained his glass. "I suppose you do make a rather good point, Colin" he mused dryly, "besides, it is my father's investment, not mine"

"Precisely my point," Colin wiped his thumb against the corner of his mouth, "are you about finished? I think I need a walk, all this pipe smoke is getting up my nose"

Draco glanced down at the remaints of his drink and, concluding that he most likely was not going to drink it, nodded his head, and stood graciously from his chair. He followed Colin from the dimly lit pub and out into the fresh, afternoon sunshine. He inhaled the October air and smiled. The cool weather would swoop down on Paris soon, he could feel it in his bones!

Beside him Colin was stretching out his arm and leg muscles, and running a grubby little hand through his scruffy blond hair. "Well I think I had better go and see how Blaise is doing." Draco could only nod. Colin peered up at him, "what are you going to do with yourself?"

"I have no idea. I have no desire to return to your rehearsals until I can be sure some good is coming out of any of this"

Colin snickered, "yes well best not to dwell on what things are at the moment. We'll get there"

"In that case I shall see you when I see you"

With a small nod of his head both men turned and walked down opposite ends of the walk-way.

~0~

His father was not going to be home until dinner time. That left Draco along until roughly 8 o'clock. A whole six hours alone. He had somehow suffered silently through an hour, by reading, however it ad dragged on so slow that he had anticipated clawing at himself just to have something else to do. He decided that all he could do was take a nap. He made sure that his bedroom door was closed, before toeing off his shoes and walking barefoot across the cold flagstones. They sent chills surging through his legs.

As he crossed the room he removed his shit, the infinite buttons making him grow momentarily frustrated, and reveled in the tepid air that stroked his muscles. He stepped out of his trousers, and slid across his beautiful silk bed-sheets, desperately missing the confident hold that the cotton bed-sheets he once lay upon, had over him.

The silk caressed him in cool waves and lulled him into a sense of euphoria as he shimmied down onto his back. The pillows welcomed his head as he tilted it backwards. The dark, cool room was the perfect place for him to relax, to live-out any sordid, blasphemous fantasies that went running wild through his brain.

His long tapered fingers felt cool and familiar against his skin as he tweaked his nipples and trailed down to his navel where a fine trail of fine blond hair disappeared into his undergarments.

He hummed softly as his erection grew and his mind was flooded with sun-kissed skin, blazing green eyes and tresses of thick, feather-soft raven hair coursing through his fingers. His fingers ached and twitched uncomfortably at not having said tresses running like silk through them. His body shivered and broke out in goosepimples. He parted his lips and let a hushed breath.

But it was no good.

Even as he gripped his erection and rapidly sank into the self-abusive pleasure's of his own hand, he knew -knew -that it would not be enough. It could NEVER be enough.

He grunted pitifully and slammed his cum-soaked fists against the goose-feather plump mattress. He would need to deal with his musings in another way. And then it came to him in a distantly haunting voice that sounded alarmingly like Colin. He swallowed thickly as he stared up at his canopy. On the one hand he COULD just stay there, naked and drizzled in his own cum and debating on whether or not he'd get away with the idea forming in his turbulent mind. Or, on the other hand, he could clean-up and bore himself to death whilst reading a dreary novel about some bastard he had never heard of nor cared about.

Definitely the former.

~0~

Harry snarled viciously as he screwed up another sheet of paper into a ball and tossed it aside over his shoulder, before scowling at the ink stains on his fingers from where he had tried to un-jam the typing ribbon. He ground his teeth together, frustrated with the whole thing when a knock on the door cracked through the air like a whip. He snarled in the door's direction. How dare someone disturb him! He pushed himself away from his desk and stalked across to the door, grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. He blinked in bewilderment. "O-oh ... I wasn't expecting you"

The blond man could do nothing but smile rather tensley as he shrugged a stiff shoulder and offered the heavy basket out in front of him. "I'm sorry for the way I acted. Everything simply got out of hand" As a dark shadow passed over Harry's face, Draco hastily carried on, "I spoke to Colin, or rather he spoke some sense into me and I have decided that _you_ have been working too hard"

Harry huffed, "oh you do, do you?"

"Yes. I can tell by that paper-ball mountain you have created under your desk"

Harry glanced over his shoulder and promptly blushed, "so what do you propose to mend our friendship as well as calm my mind?"

"A picnic on the beach. Just the two of us. Before the weather changes for the worse, you may as well come and appreciate some peace and quiet whilst it still exists"

Harry looked up at the man asking him to be forgiven; though sleek and clean and obviously wealthy he had dressed-down for the beach to some extent. There was no suit nor a restricting waistcoat but the glimmer of chain holding his mother's pocket-watch was visible around his neck beneath his collar. Harry glanced down at the thick, wicker basket hoisted between them. It was clearly a strain for the blond man to hold it, as his knuckles were flashing white around the handle. Harry gave a small, wary nod. "Alright. We'll go out for the afternoon" he eventually murmured, feeling a satisfaction swim through him, as though it were an itch that had just been scratched. "But we need to clear the air between us whilst on route"

Draco licked at his lips before sighing irritably and chewing in the inside of his cheek. "Fine. You deserve that much"

An hour late found them at a secluded expanse of beach several miles South of the Moulin Rouge. The skirts of can-can dancers were miles away as were the temptations brought on by various alcoholic concoctions and loud, boisterous music. Draco had been right. It was as though they were in a timeless orb where nothing else mattered and the moments were counted by the lazy waves crashing onto the sandy shoreline, and fizzing away as each wave was soaked up by the earth. The air didn't carry any scents of wine or bread, simply fresh and salty. Harry had found watching the waves calming as he listened to what Draco had to say.

He had listened about how Draco had not intended to be so caught up in the affairs of this proposition of his father's, nor did he intend to marry Ginerva for anything other than to ensure the safe-keeping of his fortune.

He listened to how Draco needed to do as his father says otherwise he could be disowned of his inheritance.

He listened to the blond man as he explained that he was disturbed by his peculiar feelings that he felt towards Harry.

Harry did not know how to feel. He knew what he felt towards the blond man but he was still so angry about how he had been treated earlier during the week. How he had been discarded as nothing. He told this to Draco and felt satisfaction swirl within him as the blond man bowed his head whilst twirling a piece of sand-grass in between his fingertips.

"Harry, you need to understand that ... If I am to go through with this marriage, then there is nothing that can continue between us"

Harry looked across the blanket, to the blond man lying on his side. "Unfortunately, you are not a married man yet, Master Malfoy" the blond man's head snapped up as his raven-haired companion grinned down at him. "Therefore -you can do as you please until your wedding night"

Draco studied the brunette for a long time before his lips curled into a taunting smirk. The young boy had a point. He was a free man until his wedding night. Even thereafter, he could do as he pleased. Married men did it every night in the Moulin Rouge, so then why could he not be part of the crowd for a change? His blood rushed south and his body tingled with anticipation. "You have a point there, Harry" he replied silkily, as he curled up onto his knees to face the brunette.

Emerald eyes searched his own for a moment that seemed lost the rest of the world. Draco felt his heart leap into his throat as the beautiful boy in front of him bit down on his lower lip.

Draco placed his hands on either side of the brunettes neck before kneeling upwards and melding their mouths together, their hot breath mingling with the soft saltiness of the sea-air.

Time crashed against the sand and soaked into the earth, but forever seemed to pass them by all the same, until at last they broke apart, Draco lips skirting over Harry's flushed skin up to his forehead, before breathing, "we should be heading back now"

Harry simply nodded in response.

* * *

**A/N: A little late Christmas teaser :)**


	13. Lusts of the Flesh

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the opportunity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesan and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influential heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognizable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge**

**_Lusts of the Flesh_**

_[ONE MONTH, TWENTY DAYS UNTIL THE SHOW]_

_So from then on, Draco became my shadow and vice versa. They would meet at the young writer's apartment at unholy hours of the day and night, just to be in once another's company if nothing else. Their sordid affair was not unheard of in the underworld's underbelly, but alas they did their best to keep it from Ginerva, Arthur and Lucius._

"I have arranged for us to go and see an up-and-coming new artist who is apparently rather talented in the centre of Paris. Do make sure that both you and Ginerva are free for it," Lucius stated curtly as he swirled his evening brandy, looking down from the gothic windows, at the Moulin Rouge. His back was straight and his shoulders a little tense from yelling down at Arthur all afternoon. They had decided to show Lucius what they had done so far, and for the most part he liked it. He just refused to believe that men would come and pay to watch can-can dancers frolic around when they could barely master a simply tango. He did try to have a go at Blaise as well, but there was no messing with the dark-skinned man, so he left well alone.

He was, after all, a smart man.

Draco nodded as the last of the dinner plates were taken away by the servants. He wiped his mouth before excusing himself. Colin had come to him after the rehearsal and told him that Harry wished to see him later in the evening, at about eleven o'clock. He affirmed that he would be there. The rehearsal had been awful, the girls' had forgotten their lines and Blaise had yelled when they had forgotten their dance steps. Yet, somehow, Lucius was pleased for the most part. Draco looked down at his pocket-watch, the silver gleaming in the evening light.

10:39pm.

Their dinner really had been rather late. He had not realised how long the day had been until that moment. Draco stood up from his chair and excused himself from the room. He was again grateful when Lucius merely waved him away and did not try to question him on where he was going at such a late hour of the night. The air was mild and welcoming as he stepped out of the Gothic Tower and onto the cobbled walk-way that led to the Moulin Rouge. The dark night sky was flushed with stars. The Eiffel Tower glowed far in the distance. He decided to take a slightly longer route around to Harry's apartment, just in case his father was watching from a window, sheathed in darkness. He did not wish to risk it.

Harry had been writing all day. Since he had woken up at the crack of dawn he had been stationed at his type-writer and refused to budge no matter how much his stomach grumbled and growled in anguish. He had been on a roll! The excitement never drained out of him as he clacked away on his keys, weaving his magic with every word. And finally, he had just written the two words he had been anticipating for the entire evening. 'The End.' Just as he was stacking the pile of paper neatly onto one side of his type-writer, a gentle knocking came from his door. "It's open!" he called out, far too busy perfecting the little masterpiece he had just created. He was filled to the brim with excitement!

"You really should be more careful of just letting anyone into your home, you know" Draco's silky drawl hummed through the dimly lit room, the candlelight falling onto his hair and making it glow like a halo. Harry could merely grin as he hurried over to the door and tugged Draco inside, ignoring the displeased expression on the blonde man's face. "Do be careful! This is Italian silk!" Draco grimaced as the faintest of wrinkles appeared on the cuff of his shirt from where Harry had rather unceremoniously tugged him inside.

Harry shot the blonde man a look before hurrying over to his desk and taking the wad of paper in his hands, cradling it as though it were a new-born baby, and presented it to Draco. "I have finished it!" he exclaimed, still too excited to believe that he was saying those words. Draco's expression turned from displeasure to bewilderment.

"Are you serious? The entire play?"

"Well -I am sure I shall need to tweak it here and there whilst we are rehearsing -but YES!"

Draco watched as a smug little smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, as Harry bounced on the balls of his bare feet. "What about songs? Are you still working on those?"

Harry's grin refused to falter too much as he spoke, "I am still working on those with Flitwick but so far everything seems to be shaping up rather nicely"

"I am so happy for you," Draco insisted with a smile as he reached out and stroked a hand through Harry's messy hair. He gripped the soft mop in his fingers and tugged the smaller boy upwards for a hot kiss. Harry was surprised and felt a little awkward kissing Draco, but soon the familiar heat spread through him as those talented tapered fingers massaged a trail down his neck. Just as he was leaning into the kiss a little more, Draco pulled away, his hand trailing down Harry's back. "Can I read it?"

Harry swallowed thickly and shook his head, "n-no. Not yet. Your father needs to read it first. It is his money we're using after-all"

A small butterfly of disappointment fluttered within Draco's chest but he quickly squashed it back down. He could simply read the paper's before handing them over to his father. He gave a soft smile, "fine" he breathed before bending down and gently caressing Harry's warm lips with his own. Harry felt blood rush to his nether regions as soon as Draco's tongue tickled his lips, politely asking for access. He granted it, all the while the blonde man's hands snaked underneath his shirt and touched his cool skin. He shivered at the tender touch, his mouth opening in a soft moan as Draco cocked his head slightly to one side, nibbling a hot, massaging trail down Harry's square jawline.

Harry tried to focus on unbuttoning Draco's crisp white shirt, and found it hard not to wrinkle the fabric in the process. However, at that moment Draco was far too occupied gripping Harry's neck with his firm hands. Oh, how he wanted those strong smooth hands to caress him! Harry inwardly groaned as he finished unfastening the buttons of both Draco's waistcoat and shirt, and then realised he still had Draco's cuffs to do. He bowed his head and emitted a pitiful noise from his throat. Draco pulled away, a soft frown indented in between his eyebrows. "What's wrong?" he asked in a husky whisper, his finger tilting Harry's chin up. He was met with a pair of bright green eyes. They always seemed to take his breath away.

"I can't undress you" Harry admitted in a somewhat defeated tone, the earlier brightness all but faded from his eyes.

To his surprised, Draco chuckled. "Oh, is that all? You want to watch me undress myself, is that it?" he asked rather coyly, an attitude he only used around the young brunette. Harry felt his mouth run dry as he slowly nodded his head. Draco cocked an eyebrow with a smirk on his lips, as he walked Harry over to his desk chair. He turned the chair at a right-angle from the desk, and eased Harry into the chair, pressing a warm, dry kiss to his young lover's quivering mouth.

He stepped back a few paces, his heeled shoes clicking softly on the floorboards, so that he was in the centre of the room, directly in front of Harry. He looked nervous, Draco observed from his position, despite being older he had only so much experience with the fairer sex and next to no knowledge of his own, when it came to the romantics in life. Despite there only being a five-year age gap between them, Harry suddenly looked even smaller, the walls dwarfing him, as he sat in the chair, straight-backed, mouth ajar and bright red from their passionate kisses, and his hair messed up from being tugged around. His eyes were lit-up with a primal arousal and his cheeks were flushed. His body was practically humming with anticipation. However, now that he was on the spot, he did not really know what he could do to get an arousal from the younger boy.

He simply grinned and systematically began to unfasten his cuff-buttons, the tiny little things grew on his impatience, but he did not let anything slip. He was calm and collected as he gently eased himself out of his waistcoat, dropping it daintily at his feet. He kept his lust-filled grey eyes on the younger boy seated before him, as he slowly slid the smooth crisp white fabric of his shirt off of his shoulders.

Harry could feel saliva pool within his mouth as the dim light danced over the beautiful contours of Draco's sculptured body, his muscles worked magnificently every time he moved to gently free each arm from its sleeve. He had never seen anyone built so lean and yet, well-toned with mouth-watering muscles in his life. He watched as Draco's long tapered fingers eased the elasticated slacks off of his shoulders, leaving them hanging loosely at the side of his legs. Harry bit down hard on his bottom lip. He could feel himself growing harder and harder within the confines of his trousers. He hoped Draco would not notice. He did not want to scare him away.

But Draco had noticed.

A predatory smirk crawled onto his lips as he unfastened the buttons on the front of his trousers and dropped them down to the floor, along with his undergarments. Harry's breath hitched as his erection strained against his own trousers begging for freedom. He had not noticed that Draco was hard; he had been too focused on watching more and more deliciously milky-white skin be unveiled. His mouth watered.

He leaned back in his chair as Draco advanced towards him. A hot panic entered his mind. He wasn't ready for anything -he was too young, he had no experience for God's sake!

"I see I've made you very happy," Draco breathed as he leaned over him, his hot husky voice against his earlobe caused Harry to quiver rather violently in his seat. He felt a flush tinge his cheeks and ducked his head to avoid eye-contact, only to find himself staring at Draco's large endowment. The foreskin was pulled back to reveal his throbbing red head, leaking slightly with a pearly drop of pre-cum. His mouth watered even more as Draco's hot voice whispered more passionately into his ear. Without even thinking, he reached out and wrapped his tanned fingers around the base of Draco's erection. He felt Draco tense slightly as his penis twitched. Harry was not sure what to go from there; he had just wanted to touch it so badly. "Well do something," Draco's heated hiss came from beside his ear. Harry felt hot and tense as he slowly moved his hand up and down, at a gentle rhythm, as if asking if it was alright.

"I -I never done this before," Harry murmured softly, feeling rather embarrassed with himself.

Draco chuckled heatedly, "that's fine. You're the writer who has just worked a miracle, I think you deserve a reward" he purred softly.

The hot panicky anticipation was back.

Along with a bitter seed of jealousy.

"Have -have you done this before?" he asked tightly.

Draco shook his head as he unbuttoned Harry's shirt exposing his young, tanned body, his muscles though not fully formed were hinted with the dim light. "No -you're my first" he admitted in a tender whisper as he peppered the warm tanned skin with soft kisses. Harry shivered as every kiss was pressed to his body, especially he felt sharp teeth nip and his nipple and down his navel. He quivered as Draco's hands caressed him -he had never been touched so intimately before. His breath hitched again as Draco unbuttoned his trousers and slipped them down to the floor, Harry lifting his buttocks up as he did so. He could have told him to stop. He could have told him that it was wrong. He could have pressed the issue of his age but nothing seemed to deter the blonde and no sound of objection emitted from his mouth. Truth be told, he was anxious to see what would actually happen. Not to mention that every time Draco touched his bare skin, his mind ran blank.

"You're so beautiful," he gushed softly as he watched the blonde man's lean body kneel before him in front of the chair, somehow still managing to dominate the room and everything within it, despite the lowly position he was now positioned in. Draco merely smiled softly, before he leaned up on his knees and wrapped his long, cool fingers around the base of Harry's thick erection. It was not as long as his own, which seemed to mesmerise him for a moment, but it was definitely thicker as the dark head was revealed, the musty scent of pre-cum surfing up his nose. He gently began rubbing his hand up and down Harry's shaft at a steady rhythm, earning himself a deliciously submissive moan from the younger boy. He felt rather pleased with himself as he watched Harry's knees shift a little wider beneath him.

As he rubbed Harry's erection, he pressed gently kisses to his pubic area which was covered in coarse dark curls. He picked up his pace as tremors began rippling through the young boys' body, his tanned hands losing all their colour as he gripped the seat of the chair with all his might. Beads of pre-cum were oozing from Harry's slit, dribbling onto Draco's hands. He frowned at them and then quickly swiped his tongue along them. They tasted a little bitter but over-all not too bad. However, it was Harry's sharp moan of pleasure that spurred him onwards. He experimentally teased his tongue along the dribbling slit and felt his own erection throb as Harry jerked in the chair, his large pupils shining with pleasure. He swirled his tongue around Harry's head, focusing his attention on Harry as he did so, loving to listen as the young boy moaned and tugged at his hair and spread his legs even wider.

Draco pulled back slightly, to Harry's dismay, and rested his hands heavily on the young boys' thighs. The weight was welcome, but the cold air around his wet head was not. He pouted as the blonde squeezed his thighs.

Harry threw his head back and cried out as Draco's mouth slid down over his penis, hot and wet and thrilling to the touch! He spread his legs even wider as he felt Draco's throat take him in greedily, sucking on his erection as though it were his last meal. "Oh, God Draco! F-Jesus Christ!" he moaned passionately as Draco took his entire penis into his beautiful mouth, his tongue swirling on his head and his swollen read lips caressing his base. He could feel himself throbbing and twitching within Draco's mouth, as he ran his hands through the blonde hair as the older man bobbed his head up and down.

He could feel everything surging within his cock, ready for release. He couldn't -not yet! It was too soon -wasn't it?! He bit his lip and tried not to whimper and thrust his hips to fornicate with Draco's hot wet mouth -but it was all too much!

He felt his cock explode into Draco's mouth, the release both magical and embarrassing.

Draco let out a choking noise, as hot bittersweet cum dribbled from his mouth and onto Harry's shirt. His own erection slackened after releasing his spurt of cum all over the floorboards. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, disgusted at having succumbed to such a basic urge but thrilled to see how dominated the younger boy now looked, sitting slack in the chair, legs spread as far apart as possible, and his spent, drooping penis bobbing softly between his relaxed thighs. However, Harry did not look as satisfied as he should have done. He licked his lips still sticky with cum and crawled up the young man's body, "open your mouth" he breathed huskily, his fingers gripping Harry's jaw with a light yet firm hold.

Harry obliged and was shocked when Draco slid his tongue hot and massaging into his mouth. His own tongue responded feebly at first but as soon as he got a taste of his own cum in Draco's mouth, he was hungry for more. He leaned up into the kiss and devoured the blonde man's mouth, his energy evaporating as they broke the kiss and Draco smoothed his damp black fringe out of his eyes. Harry licked his lips, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. He watched with his disorientated eyes as the blonde man before him began gathering up his clothes and started to put them on. "D-don't go," he managed to whimper softly.

Draco turned to him with a confused expression, "I have to, you know I do"

"N-no, don't make me be like them"

"Like who, Harry?" Draco asked, his shirt hanging off of his shoulders, his hair still messed up from Harry's pawing hands.

"Don't make me into one of those cheap whores -I -you can't leave. Not after that," he was embarrassed with himself as a tear rolled down his cheek. Damn the blonde for making him care so much.

Draco felt his heart contract. He had no idea that what they had just done would spur such a spontaneous display of emotion from the younger boy. He could not stay he just -he couldn't. His father would most likely wait for him to return. However, as he looked down at Harry's teary eyes and red cheeks, he knew he would regret it even more if he deserted the frail boy in such a condition. Especially after what they had both experienced. He would forever hate himself if he left Harry. "Okay," he breathed gently, allowing the shirt to slide off of his shoulders and onto the floor, "I'll stay." He turned and seated himself on the bed, the springs creaking underneath his weight and the cold sheets causing his skin to prickle with goose-pimples. He did his best to ignore it as he beckoned Harry over to him.

He was all too delighted with the way that Harry all but dashed across the room, eager to bury himself into the familiar pillows and blankets wrapped in the blonde man's strong arms.

As he wriggled down within the thick blankets, the dim candlelight flickering in the draft from the window, and felt Draco's warm arms wrap around him. He was over-whelmed with a feeling of warmth and protectiveness as the blonde buried his chin in his mess of black hair, and pressed a tender, loving kiss to his feverish temple. He had never felt so content in his entire life. He wrapped his arms around his own chest and over Draco's own, which had encircled him upon entering the bed, their legs quickly tangled together to share their body heat, their bodies moulding into one another like two pieces of an intricate puzzle. Draco smiled as Harry wriggled around like an impatience puppy, trying to find the best position to get comfortable in. He tightened his tender hold on the young boy, before reclining fully against the pillows and closing his eyes to sleep.

~0~

"I'm sorry, I don't exactly understand what you are asking of either myself or my daughter," Arthur stammered as he poured himself a third Brandy with quivering hands. He glanced over at Ginerva who was pulling grapes off of a vine and popping them one-by-one into her mouth.

Lucius sneered in disdain at the both of them, "I am asking her to spend more time with our dear young writer. It appears that my son is getting far too distracted with this playwright and I want their bond destroyed. She needs to break their bond and control them both"

"And how do you expect her to do that? She is only one little girl and for that matter she was promised to your son, not to the writer" Arthur stated dryly, his confidence growing as the liquor ran down his throat.

Lucius gripped the tip of his cane even tighter, "Yes but their friendship could be a threat to your daughter's future, and we cannot have any threats"

"I honestly do not see young Harry being a threat to us, Lucius" Arthur countered, swirling his drink, "he is only a young boy and we are helping him reach his dream of becoming a world famous writer. That is all"

"Oh you think so do you, Weasley?" Lucius snarled, "After a rather late dinner this evening Draco excused himself rather abruptly"

"And how do you know he went to young Harry's abode?"

"Where else would he go? This is a foreign land to him, Weasley, he only knows the people that you and I know here. There is nowhere else for him to venture to at such a late hour"

"And what tool do you propose I use to break up their companionship?" Ginerva asked after a moment of silence.

"Jealousy," Lucius hissed, looking at her. "Jealousy is the key"

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**A/N: Another intense update! I hope you enjoyed it! ^_^**


	14. The Lover's Are Discovered

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the opportunity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesan and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influential heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognizable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge**

**The Lover's Are Discovered**

_[ONE MONTH, SIXTEEN DAYS UNTIL THE SHOW]_

_However, try as the Duke may, it was almost too easy for the young writer and the Malfoy Heir to invent perfectly legitimate reasons to avoid both him and Ginerva._

Lucius, Draco and Ginerva were sitting next to one other along with Flitwick and Dumbledore, watching the chorus rehearse. Ginerva kept looking behind her and around the general hall, in an attempt to see if Harry would join them all for the chorus rehearsal. She could not help but wonder why he was not there with them. She bristled slightly and then tried to ease herself back into the conversation that Lucius was having with Draco about a few of the acrobatics being performed. It was difficult as she really had no interest in the performers. She was the star and as far as she was concerned, without her there would be no show. She liked that thought. It made her lips curl into a sickly thin, red smirk.

Her father had talked her into trying to pay a little more attention to their young writer friend. She assured him it was almost impossible with Draco around all of the time. He was much more handsome than any willy-nilly writer. But Arthur had already through ahead. He assured her that -not only would it be worth her while -but if she could attempt to seduce him, even a fraction, it would show just how good of an actress she really was. She was still uncertain but if it would perfect her performance on their grand opening, then she was more than willing to give it a go.

The only problem was that their little writer was not there at rehearsals. This worried her a little. Didn't they need him to correct any flaws or mistakes? She refused to carry any dead-weight back-up dancers. Her future would surely be ruined if there were too many unreliable helpers.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" came a panting voice from the double oak doors of the hall, a small shadow hurrying forward through the sunlight that bathed Paris outside. Most heads turned to view Harry as he hurried along the polished oak floorboards, a small wad of papers tucked under his tanned arm. Draco smiled to himself at the gentle caramel tint to Harry's skin. It reminded him all too much of the day they had rested on the beach, away from prying eyes, and talked about everything and anything that came to mind. He could practically smell the sea air despite their little adventure being a good few weeks ago.

"Mister Potter, what time do you call this?" Arthur snapped lightly from his position on stage, his mock-up turban glittering in the beam of light that shone upon him.

Harry hurried to the chair just behind Draco and Ginerva and placed his waistcoat, hat and light jacket over the seat before shuffling through the papers. "I was trying to complete a song for the second half of the play, monsieur!" he called back, not noticing the wince of digust from Lucius. Instead he held up a few sheets of paper with chords written on them, "I thought we could try and practice this song this afternoon!"

"Marvelous!" Arthur beamed as he shuffled his weight down from the stage and hobbled over to Harry to investigate his latest creation. Draco could not help the small smile that tugged at his lips as Harry ruffled his hair and his glasses glinted in the sunlight. The sunlight really did belong on Harry's skin -he didn't deserve a life in the shadows. He swallowed thickly and returned his attention back to the stage.

It wasn't until a little while later, whilst watching some dance routines with Pansy thriving as the lead dancer, that Harry appeared beside the two Malfoy's and Ginerva. "Do forgive me Monsieur Draco … but I haven't quite finished writing that difficult scene. The, um… '_Will the lovers be meeting at the Sitar Player's humble abode_?' scene, and I was wondering if I could use you to get the Maharajah's aristocratic dominance and hatred as well as the language difference -to make it seem more realistic on stage. We want these people to get their money's worth, after all."

Ginerva spun around in her seat, her eyes wide and her scarlet lips pursed tight. "But, Draco darling, your father has arranged a magnificent supper for us in the Gothic Tower!"

Harry blanched at the redheads stern expression, her skin glowing like candle wax. He licked his lips and ran a hand nervously through his hair, "Oh, well … it's not important … w-we could work on it tomorrow."

Draco raised his hand between Ginerva and Harry, trying to divert her burning gaze from the younger boys' nervous figure, ignoring his father's scrutinizing gaze on the side of his face, "Now ladies and gentlemen let's keep calm. Of course protecting my father's investment is a top priority. It cannot wait until tomorrow!" He straightened his back and turned his own cold gaze to the redhead, who was sat before him, fuming. "The lovers WILL be meeting in the Sitar Player's humble abode" scene is the most important in the production! I shall help you work on it tonight until I am completely satisfied that you have captured the essence of the maharajah."

Ginerva's lip wobbled, "but -but my dear Draco-"

Draco held up his hand again, "Please Ginerva. I must have a word with the stage manager. The lighting isn't right."

"Isn't that Harry's job!" she called after him, her high-pitched voice making Harry shiver as he too, stood up and side-stepped around her to hurry off back-stage with a less than apologetic look on his face. She glared after him before turning around in a huff, almost catching her heels on her skirts, and slumping back down into the chair, folding her arms tightly across her chest. Her corsets suddenly felt too tight.

Harry ran around the edge of the stage where he saw Draco admonishing one of the stage-hands. Breathing deeply, he reached up and tapped the blonde on the shoulder. Draco turned around and relaxed his features into a gentle smile. "Did father look frustrated when you left?" he asked in a husky whisper, as he pulled Harry back into a dark alcove. Harry looked a little sheepish before nodding weakly, "Not as angry as Ginerva though."

Draco laughed and held Harry tighter, their chests ad hips aligning firmly together. Harry felt his heart jump up into his throat as Draco brushed a stray strand of his dark hair out of his eyes. Their faces were so close that Harry could almost taste the liquor on Draco's lips. It was intoxicating. "I missed you last night," Draco breathed, nuzzling his lips against Harry's forehead.

The sound of Arthur's voice from the other side of the stage, made them both jump and cling to one another a little tighter, their bodies heating up with nervous sweat. "_Nice work, family! Bright and early tomorrow morning we begin on Act Two: The Lovers Are Discovered!_"

"WEASLEY!" Lucius marched over to the stage his cold gaze making Arthur's heart freeze in his chest. He bent down with a quaking grin on his mouth.

"My dear Duke! Everything is arranged for that special supper in the Gothic Tower tonight for your son and Ginerva."

"You might as well eat it yourself, Weasley. Her affections are waning the more time my son works on this production! I had no idea he even cared of this mindlessness but he insists that it is to make sure I am not making a bad deal with you and your people!" Lucius spat, the disgust evident in his voice.

"Impossible!" Arthur protested, his grin turning down slightly at the corners as doubt crept into his mind.

"I understand how important to protect our investment is, but he's always at it with that damn writer! And on top of that our daughter is growing bored. If my son does not show up tonight then -" he hissed heavily through his teeth and clenched the ball of his cane tighter. "If I don't see them taking dinner tonight, I'm very well leaving!"

Arthur's mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times as he looked up and saw Draco nuzzling the side of Harry's neck. His stomach knotted. No wonder that young heir had wanted to spend all that time working on the play with the Potter boy. It was not his investment he wanted to protect -it was the boy. Lucius frowned at Arthur's gaze and started to turn to look at the small dark alcoves back stage.

"No! My dear Duke…I'll insist that both Ginerva and Draco take the night off. I daresay the young writer could use an evening to relax himself. We have all been working ourselves to the bone, after-all!"

Lucius sighed and gaze a tight nod. "All right. Eight o'clock, then." He turned to stalk out of the hall to check that the tower was cleared out and carefully dressed for that evening.

Arthur returned his gaze back to the dark alcove but it appeared to be empty. He ground his teeth together and made his way off-stage. Meanwhile, shrouded in the darkness of the alcove, Harry turned to press a tender kiss to Draco's warm throat. "You'll come…tonight?" he asked whilst trying not to sound to desperate for the blonde mans company.

Draco moaned lightly and ran a hand down the small of Harry's back, to squeeze his firm buttocks. "Yes…"

Harry turned to untangle himself from Draco's warm embrace. "I should probably get back -don't want people to start looking for either one of us now, do we?" he grinned weakly, a tender blush dusting his cheeks. Draco watched with a lazy smile as Harry hurried clumsily down the corridor before turning back, his cheeks glowing. "What time tonight?"

Draco beamed, "Eight o'clock!"

Harry bit his lip. "Promise?"

"Yes!" Draco insistent in a mocking exasperated manner. Harry flashed him the most adorable smile before turning to hurry to the staircase. He chuckled and shook his head softly, his fingers still tingling from touching Harry's soft skin. He turned to walk out of the alcove and came face-to-face with Arthur. He looked momentarily surprised before narrowing his eyes at the small red-haired man.

"Are you mad? Your father holds the deeds to the Moulin Rouge! He's spending a fortune on Ginerva as your future wife! He's giving her a beautiful new dressing room, he wants to make her a star! But he can't do that without YOU! And you're dallying with the writer!" he finished with a sneer as the blonde heir brushed passed him in a disgusted.

Draco sneered and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, Weasley, don't be ridicul—"

"I saw you together!" Arthur boomed, his voice echoing in each of the alcoves. Draco refused to show his new-found fear of the red-haired man. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at him, raising an eyebrow for the man to continue on his rant. "Draco -whatever you young men do in England -and believe me I am not one to judge! I've seen it all here believe me! -but when it concerns my daughter, you cannot do anything half-arsed, got it? You will be the power-couple of Paris! You could rule the world! And you want to waste it away on a bohemian boy!"

"I'm protecting my money. That's all. It's nothing." With a dejected sigh, Draco turned to carry on walking along the way corridor behind the stage. "It's just an infatuation, it's…it's nothing. Your daughter and your money are safe. You have nothing to fear on that part."

"The infatuation will end. Go to the boy. Tell him it's over. The Duke is expecting you and Ginerva in the Tower at Eight O'clock tonight. Do not let me down."

Draco hugged himself tightly and leaned backwards against the alcove, all of a sudden feeling like a little boy lost and alone in the big wide world, as Arthur Weasley's balding head disappeared out of sight down the staircase.

He didn't know what to do.

He remained huddled in the alcove for the majority of the night, sweating profusely and shivering violently as his stomach swirled and knotted and lurched within him. He felt physically sick with anxiety as his mind worked in over-drive to understand a possible out-come for this predicament that allowed everyone to come out unscathed.

He began to cough violently, the world around him spinning and warping out of focus as he slipped off balance on the floor of the wooden alcove and slumped over, his white blonde hair plastered to his forehead as blackness clouded his mind.

**_'_**_How could I know, in those last fatal weeks, that a force darker than jealousy and stronger than love had begun to take hold of Draco?_**_'_**

* * *

**A/N: So what do you think of this chilling chapter? I know it's not much but I really wanted to update this story and have been listening to 'El Tango de Roxanne' for the past two days. Read and Review!**


	15. Out Cold

Disclaimer: The year is 1899. A young aspiring writer journey's to the allure of Paris, a true Bohemian paradise, where he hopes to become a famous writer. Once there he seizes the opportunity of a life-time at the possibility of writing a play for Paris' most exotic nightclub, The Moulin Rouge. Once he enters the owners inner circle he meets the exotic and alluring Ginerva, a fiery courtesan and star of the Moulin Rouge. In order to win the owner, Arthur Weasley, over he must take advantage of Ginerva's passionate advances. However another man is promised to her bed. The Duke and his influential heir are in town and looking for suitable investments when Arthur suggests they invest in Ginerva, the star of the show and aspiring actress. To do so, Draco [the heir] must woo her. But what happens when he finds her in the arms of another man? What happens if it is not Ginerva he feels jealous about? What happens when people fall in love with someone they're not supposed to? A twisted web of love, lies and deception. Welcome, to the Moulin Rouge.

NOTE: To construct this story I am using the help of the transcript from the movie 'Moulin Rouge'. Sadly, I do not own it nor do I own the characters of Harry Potter. The majority of the dialogue to begin with is recognizable from the movie [mainly the first one or two chapter] however in later chapters my own dialogue will be in there as well.

**Moulin Rouge**

**Out Cold**

Later that night Arthur was growing anxious. He had heard no news about whether both Ginerva and Draco had made it to the tower for their late dinner. Biting his thumbnail he finally decided to have a little peek through his telescope. It looked directly into the windows over-looking the balcony of the Tower. He could distinctly see Lucius pacing back and forth just on the other side of the windows. But his beloved daughter was not there -nor was the Malfoy heir. "Where is they?" he asked himself as his eyes darted back and forth. A small smile curled at his lips at the prospect that the heir and his daughter had ventured off on their own, away from prying eyes. He desperately wanted to hold onto that idea -Alas, he knew where the boys heart truly lied. And it was not with his beloved daughter.

He adjusted his telescope to over-look the small block of garret's on the other side of the square where he knew the Bohemians gathered on a nightly basis. After a few minor adjustments he managed to focus in on Harry waiting expectantly in his garret, nibbling on his thumbnail and running a hand through his hair. He was anxious. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as the clock struck nine. At least Draco was sticking to his word and taking his warning seriously.

Little did Arthur know that several rooms away Molly had called the doctor. She had come into Ginerva's dressing room to find the poor little red-haired girl out cold on the dressing room floor with her corset half-strung up. The doctor had come as quickly as he could and had taken a blood sample.

"Do you think she'll be up and about by tonight?" Molly asked as she dabbed a damp cloth over her daughter's forehead.

"Tomorrow morning at the earliest." Announced the doctor as he started to pack his belongings away into his leather case. Molly emitted a soft sigh of resignation. As she was resigning herself to spending the night keeping her daughter's temperature as level as possible, Blaise Zabini barged into the room cradling an unconscious Draco Malfoy in his arms.

"Oh, my Lord!" Molly exclaimed a hand coming up his mouth. "Where did you find him?"

"Passed out in the alcove's backstage. He's soaked through with sweat and cold!" Blaise stated in a rough barking voice. "Where can I put him down?" Molly quickly ushered him over to the window seat which was padded up with soft velvet-covered cushions and a throw-blanket. Blaise was as gentle as he could be as he placed the frozen blonde man on the pillows and propped his head up at an angle.

The doctor cleared his throat for them to all stand aside so that he could take another blood sample. Molly hurried over with a fresh damp cloth and dabbed at Draco's forehead. Blaise bit his thumbnail, a worried crease across his brow. He needed to keep a sharp eye on the proceedings. If anything happened to Draco -Harry would never be the same again.

~0~

Arthur was just on his way to check with Lucius on how well the evening dinner was progressing. He had enjoyed a little glass of Brandy for himself, assuming that after their rendezvous together, both Ginerva and Draco would attend the appointed dinner and beg for forgiveness for their tardiness. He smiled clumsily to himself as he made his way up the dark stony steps. Just as he stepped out onto the first landing of the Gothic Tower, a young servant scurried up to him in a panic, "The Duke's leaving!"

Arthur's heart sank down into his shoes. His happy bubble burst and exploded against the stone walls like blood spurting from a murderer's victim. He swallowed thickly and hurriedly made his way to the main dining hall where -no doubt -the Duke was still pacing, a white hot temper brewing under his cool brow. "Where is she, Weasley!" Lucius spat as soon as the doors opened to admit Arthur. The red-haired man shrank back, expecting an array of objects to be thrown at him. "And my son! Where is he?!"

"I -I -I'm not -"

"You'd better find them both Weasley! Or I am walking and taking all of my money back to England where it belongs!"

Arthur blanched and bit down hard on his lip. The back of Lucius' head made his stomach knot in fear. "She's confessing!"

"Confessing? What kind of imbecile do you take me for, Weasley?" Lucius spat, his normally pale parlor flushing a horrible red colour, the anger swelling in the room like a two-headed dragon about the burn Arthur to a crisp.

"S-She suddenly had a terrible desire to go to a priest and confess her sins!" Arthur almost grinned at how plausible the story sounded, as long as he managed to stick to it.

Lucius looked as though Arthur were well and truly mad. "What?" he ground out in a deadly quiet voice.

"She wanted to be cleansed of her former life. She was looking upon tonight as her wedding night!"

"Her wedding night? What on earth are you blabbering about, Weasley?! I want my son here within the hour! We need to seriously consider our foreseeable future in Paris!"

"S-She's like a blushing bride. She -she says you make her feel like a…virgin!"

"Ha! A virgin? Don't make me laugh, Weasley! You and I both know she probably has her legs spread for someone else right now!"

"And what if it was for you son? What then?"

Lucius glared at Arthur's insinuation. "How DARE you say such a thing! Draco was brought up to know the difference between right and wrong. He would never contaminate a woman before marriage -even if she is a harlot!"

"My dear Duke -that is my daughter!" Arthur stammered, his resolve almost breaking. "She tells me it's true. That with your son -each time he kisses her hand it feels exciting and new and makes her feel like a young untainted girl again! You know…touched for the very first time?"

"For the first…"

Arthur stormed onward, not willing to lose his train of thought. "She says it feels so good inside, when he holds her, and when he touches her…"

Lucius narrowed his eyes, "Like a virgin, no doubt."

Arthur nodded enthusiastically. "That is why I came, my dear Duke. I had no idea her confession would exert her so, but she had to retire to bed and the moment I found out I came over here to inform you so. She wishes to dine with your son at his most earliest convenience, my Lord."

"Hm." Lucius hummed shortly, the events of the long, pointless night plucking at his last nerve. He would have to spend all of the following day recovering. He inclined his head, "very well. Inform you daughter that her apologies have been accepted and that I shall re-arrange the dinner within the next week. Not, please leave. I need to retire to my chamber."

Arthur bowed low at the waist and gave a relieved smile. "Of course, dear, Duke. Have as much rest as possible."

Lucius called out to him just as both doors of the long dining hall were to close. "Oh and Weasley!"

"Y-yes, dear Duke?"

"Find my son and bring him to me. I'll be needing a serious word with him tomorrow."

"O-of course dear Duke," Arthur stammered as he closed the doors behind him and made his way down the spiral staircase to the streets outside on quaking legs. He had no idea where on earth either his daughter or Draco could be. He supposed he could ask his wife -Molly. Perhaps she would have some key information on their daughter's whereabouts.

_Arthur Weasley's brilliant lies had once again averted disaster. But no lie, however brilliant, could save Draco._

"How long until we know exactly what is wrong with either of them?" Molly asked as she nursed a cheap mug filled with black coffee. It calmed her nerves, so she claimed.

"Soon," the Doctor responded as he double-checked Draco's pulse from his wrist. He watched the face of his pocket-watch for a few moments before replacing it in his waistcoat and placing Draco's limp wrist across his abdomen. He was now fully covered in the throw-blanket, but it did little to raise his body temperature. The doctor was a lot more concerned about Draco's well-being that that of a can-can dancer, star or not. He -after all -was the only heir to the Malfoy fortune. If he failed as the boys' physician he could welcome poverty with open arms.

Blaise was pacing on the balcony outside, smoking anxiously as a cigarette. He only smoked when he was nervous.

The Doctor was just about to diagnose both of his patients when the dressing-room doors burst open to reveal a pale-faced Arthur. "Oh, Arthur what has happened?!" Molly gushed, raising to her feet to hug her husband.

"The D-Duke was wondering where -What on earth is going on in here?!" he exclaimed in shock as his eyes drank in the sight of his daughter in her bed, unconscious, as well as the pale-as-death Draco Malfoy lying in the window-seat covered with a throw-blanket. His disappointment swelled within his chest. He had been right -to some extent. They were -at least -together.

The Doctor cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to him. Blaise ducked back in from the gnawing chill that whispered around him on the balcony. "Mousier Weasley, Mademoiselle Ginerva is dying. She has Consumption." He paused and looked over his shoulder at Draco, looking ghostly in the moonlight. "As for young master Draco, I have no idea. His vitals all seem in order but if their is anything that seems off about him then get him to come and see me as soon as possible." Without another word he began to pack up his equipment.

Arthur wasn't listening. His watery eyes were too busy fixed upon his darling daughter. "My Little Sparrow is dying?" he breathed in disbelief, as he crouched down at the head of her bed, and took her hands in his own.

Molly made the sign of the cross, before turning to weep against her husbands broad shoulders. He looped an arm around her waist and allowed her to weep against him. The Doctor passed by them and sighed softly, placing a sympathetic hand on Molly's shoulders. "I'm sorry it wasn't better news." She believed him and watched him leave.

Arthur didn't speak for a few moments. How could he when his only daughter's life-span had been cut dramatically before his eyes. He reached across and grasped Molly's hand. "She mustn't know, Molly. The show must go on."

_All night, the Penniless Sitar Player had waited. And now, for the first time, he felt the cold stab of jealousy._

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**A/N: I know this was a quick update but I just could not resist! Read and Review please! Thanks to Fulmeni for the inspiration!**


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